Rise from Ashes
by K'Arthur
Summary: Five years after the Fall of Vane, the Magic Guild is ready to claim its place as the center of learning in the world. As friends gather to celebrate, struggles within the city and beyond may hold some unexpected challenges.
1. Prologue

_Author's Note: I began writing a Lunar fanfic back in the 90s and it first appeared on the web in 2000. I abandoned it for a long while but after I recently played the PSP remake, my love for this game and its characters was rekindled. So, I pulled up my old story and after reading it, I decided that was rather unhappy with it. After careful consideration, I have decided to start from scratch because I believe that is the best way to fix all of the problems I have with the story. I had many issues with the old version-far too many to discuss in a short author's note-and many of those could not be rectified with new chapters alone._

_Anyway, as the Lunar series is famous for remakes, I offer you one for "Equation." I hope it is to your liking, but I welcome any comments, crit, or flying cats.  
-K_

**_

* * *

_**

_**Rise from Ashes**_  
**Prologue  
**

* * *

Footsteps pounded the marbled floor of the Guild Manor in rampant precision. Each one marked harried, furious time, echoing dreadfully against the newly renovated walls and ornate vaulted ceilings. The sorrow and anguish he'd felt only moments before began to diminish as his stride lengthened, and in their place he found his rage.

Rounding the corner from the east wing, his fingers curled around the tiller of his crossbow, the polished wood fighting against his manic grip. The guards who were on duty in this early morning hour stood at rapt attention as he passed, most not daring to interfere as he quickened his pace. The one who did try to step into his path to query about what had him so worked up quickly retreated as the crossbow was raised. If he'd been in the mood to notice any of their expressions, he might have seen the confusion—or even the fear—in their eyes.

Growling audibly as the raw anger and brutal loathing crested over the last little bit of self-pity, he rushed down the flying staircase, eyes fixated on the gilded doors he had entered not even five minutes earlier. Slamming them open, his face contorted into something animalistic and, without another thought, he raced outside of the Guild, his cloak flowing behind him like a battle flag.

The plaza in front of the Manor was still as the sky above hesitated to breathe. He scowled heavenward at the Blue Star and then fired the bolt from his crossbow towards it, not caring where the arrow actually landed.

The Blue Star's light was an unwelcome visitor to him at the moment. Its soft azure shadows were only causing him the annoyance of memories he cared not to hold onto. How many times had they sat on her balcony just staring at it in comfortable silence? How many nights had it been witness to shared kisses and whispers of devotion? How many wishes had _they_ made on it?

He didn't want to think about it. The Blue Star could fall for all he cared. Hell, he'd _make_ it fall.

His horse was gone, the precious books she had sent him to acquire along with it, but he didn't care. It didn't matter anyway. He flung his weapon to the ground and ripped off his heavy traveling cloak. Being unarmed and cold didn't matter. _Nothing_ mattered anymore.

Glaring at the east wing, he began to chant a spell. Another instant, a tiny gesture, and a well-placed strike of lightning hit the roof in precisely the spot for which he'd been aiming. Shards of glass leapt upwards, spattering the night sky with despair before raining back into the freshly made cavity. But even seeing that did little to make him feel better. No, there was so much more fury—so many more demolished dreams to avenge.

It had been years since he had used Primal Magic—everything since had been trained, calculated, and associated with special words and focal points. He had forgotten the amount of power just one call, one summoning could bring. He crossed his arms over his chest and felt the Storms rise from within him. The electricity in the air tingled against his skin mercilessly as the thunder clasped in the distance as if to answer his plea.

He threw his arms to the sky and with a shriek watched as the Storms appeared and began their assault. Rain pelted against his skin, the winds so fierce it caused the drops to fly sideways. Hail fell; striking the ground with such force it left divots in the grass and cracks in glass. Winds beat the sides of scaffolding and buildings, causing many doors to fly open, some even coming off their hinges. Dark clouds obscured the Blue Star as thunder rattled windows, which blew themselves out. Lightning struck constantly. White-yellow flashes engulfed the city as each bolt charged into random targets. Some hit buildings, others trees—all leaving debris and scorch marks in their wake.

And through it all, he screamed at the clouds as if commanding them with his voice.

He let the Storms rage until dawn, allowing every iota of magical ability to be ripped from his body. All of his power, unbridled and driven by vicious rage, was used against the symbol of his hatred and anger—Vane.


	2. Chapter One

_**Rise from Ashes  
**_**Chapter One  
**

_**

* * *

**_

Jessica de Alkirk stood on the balcony leading out from her bedroom just enjoying the warm spring evening. In the distance, she could see the boats pulling in and out of the port, but the one she was waiting for wasn't in view. She wasn't surprised. Sometimes the winds weren't favorable, or sometimes her father decided to make an unexpected stop. She couldn't blame him. Her own wanderlust was begging for a new adventure, but given her responsibilities in Meribia, they would have to wait.

"Mommy! Mommy! We got a letter!" the little girl said as she trotted out onto the balcony towards her mother, shielding her eyes from the setting sun. "A letter from Vane!"

At the sound of her daughter's happy laughter, she smiled and moved to pick up the child. "A letter? Well, where is it, Kalyn?" she asked, not seeing it in the girl's hand.

"Daddy has it," was the shrill answer from the girl, her beast ears twitching excitedly.

"Sure do," Kyle said as he appeared from the doorway. Jessica smiled at him. He'd changed so much in the past five years. The once full-time thief and part-time drunk had reformed to the point of earning his place as one of her father's trusted assistants. He'd even managed to find gainful employment for his band of brigands by hiring them as part of Meribia's army and assigning them to protect travelers along the Nanza border.

She grinned to her husband as she reached for the letter but he held it just out of her grasp. "I'm willing to bet that I'm going to win our little wager."

"Care to double down?" he asked, running his free hand through his dark hair.

She smirked, setting their daughter on the floor. "Let me look at it first."

He started to hand it to her, but then pulled it back. "Outside only. No peeking, or all bets are off."

She snatched it from his grasp and examined it for a moment. The envelope was heavy, the contents thick, the royal seal of the House of Ausa on the back, and the delicate, left-leaning, feminine script was clearly identifiable. "Oh, I'm definitely in for double. Triple, even."

"Triple? Can you afford that?" Kyle teased, taking it back from her and tapping it against his palm.

She laughed. "Three thousand silver says it's a wedding invitation."

"If it is, it's about damn time."

"A wedding?" Kalyn asked with bright eyes. "Will I get to go, Mommy?"

"If your father ever opens it!" Jessica grinned.

Kyle tossed it back to her. "You do it. It's your fault anyway."

"They just needed a little encouragement. I didn't do much," Jessica said, tearing the envelope and frantically pulling out the contents. Reading the exquisitely engraved paper she frowned. "Well, it's an invite, but to a festival she's having to reopen the Guild."

"I win," Kyle gloated. "It's never gonna happen, Jess. I'm telling you."

"Don't curse it," she sighed. "Still, a reason to go to Vane and see all of our friends is cause to celebrate. Especially since her last letter said they'd had an unexpected problem and she thought they might have to delay the reopening plans."

Kyle nodded. "Doesn't seem like there was too much of a setback. A few weeks is nothing when you're rebuilding an entire city."

"Yeah. But, I was still hoping for a wedding," she replied, brushing a stray lock of her hair behind her long, pointed ear. "They were always behind the rest of us."

"That's magicians for you," Kyle shrugged. "When's the festival?"

"In three weeks."

A slight frown crossed the former brigand's face. "I hope things settle down with the dockmasters and boatswains before then. They've been causing your father some grief. I'd hate for him to have to miss it because of them."

"Yeah," she answered, glancing back out towards the sea. "Especially since the last time he went to Vane it was for Lemia's funeral."

"You didn't let me go last time," Kalyn reminded her parents.

Kyle sighed, shaking his head. "It was not a happy time and just for adults."

"But you can go _this_ time," Jessica added, seeing her daughters lips begin to pout and not wanting to get into a discussion about death and burial with the overly inquisitive almost-four-year-old.

Fortunately Kalyn's attention had already diverted to a happier thought. "Can I pet Nall?"

Jessica laughed, remembering the fondness her daughter had for the white cat with wings. "I'm sure Alex and Luna will come and I'm sure they'll bring Nall. Whether or not he'll let you pet him is up to him."

"I'm gonna go make him a present!" Kalyn giggled, squirming out of Kyle's arms. "Then he'll let me pet him for sure!"

"You do that, Trouble," Kyle said, watching the girl bound back into their bedroom.

Jessica laughed. "I can't wait to see what this present is going to be."

Kyle put an arm around her shoulder. "Yeah. What do you make for a dragon?"

"We're going to find out soon enough," she said, smiling at him before glancing out over the sea again. She ran a hand through her long blonde hair and shook her head at the dreadful memory of their last visit. "I hope we find things in Vane better than we did last time. Mia was such a mess and I think Nash was doing all he could to keep her from collapsing from exhaustion."

"Her mother had just died," he reminded her. "And even though we were all there for a week, the circumstances just sucked. Wish we could've seen everyone on different terms."

"I know, and I don't fault her for that," Jessica said with a sigh. "But there was more to it than just her mother's passing. Nash told me that she'd been working herself to death for months."

"I bet he was just jealous of the attention she was giving Vane instead of him," Kyle said. "You know Mia. If it's worth doing, it's worth over-doing."

"No, for once this wasn't about _him_," Jessica answered. "He told me she was forcing herself to stay awake and work. There was one time she hadn't eaten or slept in four days so he knocked her out with a sleep spell while she was distracted."

"I bet there was hell to pay when she woke up," Kyle smirked, jumping up to sit on the rail. "I would've paid to see that fight. Magical combat or not, it would have been worth any price. Especially since we know she would've won."

Jessica sighed, knowing her husband would find amusement in the thought of their two friends battling it out, and even more amusement in the thought of Nash losing. "I'm serious, Kyle. Nash made it sounded like she was completely obsessed. Nothing was good enough and it wasn't going to be the same until it was right. He was very worried about her. He even asked me what he should do."

"Nash, asking advice?" Kyle frowned in concern. "Guess it was serious. Why didn't you say something to me about it?"

"I don't know," she answered. "I guess at the time figured he asked you, too."

"He didn't. Probably didn't want to bruise his ego _that_ much," Kyle said, his tone was gentle despite the words. "What did you tell him?"

"To take her on a vacation," Jessica said with a smile. "Make her get out of that place, just for a few days. Come up here, stay with us. I even offered to take them out on the boat Dad gave us for our wedding."

"Well, that never happened, unless they went somewhere else."

"Doubt it," she said. "I worry about them. It seemed to take them forever to discover that they needed each other."

"Again, your fault," her husband teased, sliding down off the rail.

"I'll take the credit on that one," she said, drawing him into her arms. "Mia just needed—"

"To wake up," Kyle supplied.

Jessica nodded. "Pretty much. Of course, I guess when you're royalty living in a city that floats above the rest of the world you're going to be a little naïve." She rested her head on his chest. "At least they got their act together before we got married."

"Yeah," Kyle said.

"But really, I do worry about them. I mean, we've got my dad and Alex and Luna have his parents. Mia and Nash are out there trying to put that place back together on their own."

"If anyone can do it, those two can," Kyle answered before giving a smirk. "Not that I want to give Nash any credit for anything, but he was the one of the first ones out there picking through rubble five years ago."

Jessica nodded. Nash had, on his own accord, taken it upon himself to oversee the initial clean up and the reconstruction of Vane. He'd worked tirelessly, and not once did he complain. He's travel constantly between the fallen city and Meribia to purchase materials and deliver supplies or hire workers. All the while, Mia lived on Black Rose Street, handling the paperwork, soliciting donations, and caring for her ailing mother. Despite the hardships and the time apart, they managed. In the process, Nash managed to mature, and for that Jessica was infinitely grateful because his conceited nature tended to grate on her nerves.

She laughed, turning in his arms such that they were both looking out over the water. "Time sure does fly, doesn't it? You're gonna be an old man before you know it."

"Mmm," he answered, kissing her on the cheek. "Seems like only yesterday we got married. Then the troublemaker came along. What's it been? Three years since Alex and Luna decided to make it official?"

"It'll be three in July," Jessica said. Never in her life did she imagine she'd be attending the wedding of the Goddess incarnate and an ex-Dragonmaster. A broad smile crossed her lips as she thought of those two weeks they'd spent in Burg. That trip had brought her some of her favorite memories. Seeing all of her friends, sharing some laughs, some wine, and a simple wedding in the welcoming rustic village just made it perfect. She really hoped the upcoming trip to Vane would be just as memorable.

Nodding, he changed the subject. "What were you doing out here anyway?"

"Seeing if Dad's ship had docked," she said.

"He's not back yet?"

Still leaning against him, she sighed. "No, and he's two days late."

"I'm sure he's fine. They don't call him Hell Mel for nothing."

"Like you need to tell me that!" She freed herself from his embrace long enough to give him a playful punch on the arm.

Kyle winked at her. "You hit like a girl."

"A girl that can kick your butt!" She grinned and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Only when I let you," he said just before softly touching his lips to hers.

The kiss was short lived. Kalyn reappeared and began tugging on her father's shirt. "Daddy! Daddy, you promised you'd read me a story!"

"What happened to Nall's gift?" Kyle asked, still holding onto his wife.

"Oh, I made it! I made him a picture of a fish!"

"Maybe he wants two?" Kyle suggested, a little too hopefully.

The little girl tried to step between them. "No, he gets one. You _promised_ me a story!"

Just barely pulling back from her husband, Jessica smiled. "A promise is a promise, _Daddy_."

"Then I promise there'll be more of this when I finish my other one," he said as he released her and took Kalyn's hand.

"I'll hold you to it," she said, watching them go back inside.

* * *

Mia Ausa shifted uncomfortably in her chair as she waited on her Council to arrive. Normally, they'd be waiting on her, but today, she was just grateful for a few moments alone. This had been the second meeting in as many days, and while there was only one item on today's agenda, it was one that she was reluctant to address. With only two weeks before the renowned Magic Guild of Vane was to reopen its doors, there was something she knew it lacked, but old wounds and fresh memories made her pause.

There were other more pressing matters, she had told herself in order to avoid thinking about the subject over the past few weeks. Planning for the weeklong festival to celebrate the reopening of the Guild, being sure to invite and entertain the city's greatest benefactors, and even the lack of morale the faculty had been showing as they prepared for this endeavor. All of these seemed so much more important. But now, with only a fortnight left, she knew she needed to broach the subject no matter how unpleasant the discussion it would spawn might be.

Perhaps she'd be able to solve another problem with her proposal. After all, the lack of cohesive leadership among the faculty might be the root of that issue. They seemed to have split into two factions of sorts and were acting more like rivals than a single group working towards a greater good. The division ran between the young and the old as well as those who supported keeping the archaic traditions Mia was working to change.

Many of the younger group were former students of the Guild, apprentices who had earned their Master's Badges just before the Fall. In some cases they—like the newly appointed Chief Engineer and Architect—had not even taken their Master's Exam. With the city in ruin, Mia had decided to award Master's Badges to those she thought had earned them through their work in the reconstruction. Many of the older generation did not agree with that, or with her decree that the Guild would be open to anyone who wished to study there, not just those of Vanetian birth or those who had passed the Trial.

Running her finger along the edge of the polished marble-topped table, Mia traced the veins of the stone. It was one of the few things that had survived the Fall intact—perhaps because of its weight or perhaps the magic said to be held within it. For centuries, this odd, v-shaped table served as a meeting place for the Guildmaster and her four councilors. At each seat, an arm's length from the edge, there was a carving of her house crest. Touching her hand to the tabletop caused the seal in front of her to glow with a golden light, indicating that the table recognized her and that business would begin soon.

The first member to enter was Robin Mikasa, the draconian blonde-haired woman who always used her head, but never her heart. It was not a mystery to many members of Guild as to why she had never married. Her duty to Vane came first and foremost. Her views on the Guild—as well as other topics on which she held a firm and decided opinion—were always voiced in the most succinct and blunt manner. She could have been attractive, had she taken a moment to ready her appearance, or even allow a smile to settle on her stern features. But her overly organized life never left room for such trivial matters. Her title was Master of Healing Magic, a trade with which she was highly talented. She had established a capable corps of healers within the Guild and spent most of her waking hours working in the infirmary. Robin also served as secretary to the Council, providing minutes of their meetings in her always-perfect handwriting.

In all honesty, Mia did not care for the woman and had inherited her from her mother's Council. Still, something had to be said for her ability despite her demeanor leaving much to be desired. Robin's magic and knowledge of medicine managed to keep Lemia alive longer than anyone expected and her potions made the former Guildmaster's last weeks reasonably comfortable. With a polite smile to acknowledge the woman, Mia silently made a wish that the healer's cantankerous personality was in check today.

Giving a bow of respect to the Guildmaster, Robin claimed her seat to Mia's immediate right. With a grimace of annoyance, she rubbed her hand over the space on the table. The seal before her turned blue and an instant later, the marble to shifted and a pen, inkwell, and paper rose from within for her to use.

A moment after, Alastair Gaine shuffled in. He had been a talented instructor in his day and had served as a councilor to the past three Guildmasters. A quiet, black-haired man with many lines of wisdom and age on his face, he generally kept the peace during their meetings. And, given the personalities of the other three, Mia was always grateful to have him around.

His title was Master of Aegis Magic and he was an expert in seals, protection spells, and military strategy. Vane's army—known affectionately as the Magic Corps—reported to him, as did the Elite Guard. By comparison to the army, the Elite Guard was few in number and their sole charge was the protection of the Guildmaster, Premier, and any visiting dignitaries. Under Alastair's guidance, the army and the guard had been working to create security plans and add protection spells to the city's walls in anticipation of the festival. Though Mia honestly didn't think such things were necessary, he had insisted and she had given her blessing.

He gave a bow to Mia before finding his place on the far left. She gave him a warm smile in return, knowing that his patience would be needed for today's discussion. Waving his hand over his place, the seal glowed white and the table produced the ledger he used to track the Guild's expenditures. As treasurer of the Guild, he was the only person besides Mia herself who knew exactly where all the money they had received to rebuild the city had come from.

Close behind Alastair came Tamora Dwyion, a poised and beautiful brunette from one of the oldest and most respected families in Vane. Titled as the Master of Incursive Magic, she also gave a bow before she delicately lowered herself into the chair in between Alastair and Mia. Her touch yielded a red glow around the crest and a single book full of Vane's customs—and its secrets. As parliamentarian for the Council, her knowledge of the laws and traditions that held them to their decisions was unmatched—as if she had penned them herself.

In her early forties, Tamora was the youngest of the four councilors and one of the two that Mia herself had appointed. Her consummate talent in writing spells had earned her a large shelf in the Library and her students were always first among those chosen for apprenticeships. Tamora had also been a close personal friend of Lemia and while she often brought strong opinions, she tempered them with maternal charm.

And finally, the last of the Council arrived. Simply appearing behind his chair from a heatless black flame came Gregory Telka, the Master of Illusion Magic. Often called "the ageless mage" by his students, Gregory never offered information on exactly how old he was, but those who knew him well, could say that he had lived through four generations of Ausa rulers. With salt and pepper hair and playful blue eyes, his features were mature—yet not elderly. How much of this was real or the result of his mastery of illusion no one knew for sure—or dared to ask him.

Gregory had been fascinated with the history of Vane for as long as Mia had known him. He'd written many books on the subject and they were among her favorites in the Library's vast collection. Though his writing was captivating, the lectures he'd give in her school days were even more intriguing. She had loved listening to him tell the tales of Vane long past as though he were recalling events he had witnessed, or people he had personally known. Although he had never had claimed to be there at those times, there was something in his quiet, velvet voice that had always left her wondering and always wanting to hear more. Though, as charming and didactic as he was, he had no family and kept to himself when not teaching or fulfilling his duties to the Guild. In this way, he was much of an enigma, but Mia had still asked him to serve on her Council because his candor and charisma could deflect just about any abuse—even from Robin.

Gregory's crest glowed black at his touch and the table revealed five silver nameplates that, with a snap of his fingers, floated to their places in front of their respective owners.

"Master Gregory," Robin sighed as she turned to him. "We do have doors."

"But this way is much more entertaining, Master Robin," he replied with a wink, much to the healer's irritation.

Robin glared at him. "Besides, it is generally expected that the sergeant at arms set the meeting place before we arrive. You haven't even bothered to post the agenda."

He bowed his head to Mia. "Forgive me, Majesty. I was in the Library and forgot the time. I will gladly fulfill my duties if you would kindly provide me a copy."

Smiling ruefully at the exchange between the two of them, Mia answered, "All is forgiven, Master Gregory. And, Master Robin, there is only one item on today's agenda so there is no need for it to be posted."

Taking a breath, Mia called the meeting to order. Robin and Alastair handled the formalities of their reports but Mia wasn't listening. She used those precious moments to collect her thoughts, knowing this would be a battle and no matter what, she had to hold her ground. Vane needed this. _She_ needed this.

Moments later, after the minutes were read and treasury had been accounted for, they all looked at the Guildmaster. Resting her hands daintily on the arms of her chair, she spoke. "My agenda item is thus: since we are ready to open the Guild, and the faculty is in desperate need of a leader, I believe we should appoint a Premier."

She expected more of a reaction and was pleasantly surprised when they all nodded in agreement, even Robin. She'd thought this would've been a fight, especially since the atrocities the last Premier had committed were still fresh in the minds of everyone in Vane and beyond. His sins were so many and so heinous that few in the city even dared to speak his name. Some of his many transgressions were: casting a forbidden magic on Lemia that destroyed her memories and nearly killed her, using the Guild for his own plan, conspiring with a tribe cast out by the Goddess, attempting to take on the powers of a god, _and _causing the Fall.

"I assume you already have someone in mind, Majesty," Robin said, her voice full of its usual contempt.

"I do."

Alastair pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are aware that the choice rests entirely in your hands?"

Mia's tone carried her surprise. "I was not. I thought it would have to be brought to a vote within the Council."

Gregory's answer was gentle. "No. It has always been the sole choice of the Guildmaster."

"But there _are_ exceptions to that as _you_ are well aware, Master Gregory," Robin interjected with a haste that caused the Illusionist to give her a firm glare.

Mia's delicate countenance gave away her puzzlement as the Council members exchanged glances full of skepticism and concern. She looked at them hopefully, wishing someone would explain why they were so appalled at her ignorance. Finally Tamora spoke, her tone kind, despite the awkward information. "I realize this isn't information that we publish in the Library or speak of freely in the Guild, but I was hoping your mother had told you some of the traditions you would be expected to uphold."

"Traditions?" Mia asked quietly, the sudden tension in the room causing her to dread the answer.

Tamora gave the Guildmaster's hand a maternal pat. "By the laws of Vane, the Premier has always had more than professional or ceremonial duties." She paused and met Mia's eyes. "Consider it a marriage, child."

"But not really a marriage," Robin quickly and sternly corrected. She shot Tamora a scornful look before counting out her next points on her fingers. "There are rules. First, you may not live together. You may remember that your mother and her Premier kept separate rooms at the opposite ends of the Manor. Second, you may not raise your child together. You alone need to train your daughter's magic and prepare her for her duty to rule and defend Vane. He shall have no part of her life unless you die before your daughter turns sixteen. Third, you may not have more than one daughter. It makes for a succession nightmare and may even incite a civil war. Finally, you may keep your Premier as a consort but you are encouraged to be seen in the company of other men so that the identity of your daughter's father remains a mystery to the rest of the citizens. We encourage them to gossip. This is for your child's safety, of course."

The appalling information and Robin's brusque delivery of it struck Mia harder than any attack she sustained in battle ever had. Giving an icy glare to the healer, she retorted, "Who says I must follow such rules? I cannot believe my mother nor any of my ancestors would have agreed to such a ludicrous practice under the guise of tradition."

Robin raised a brow. "Even your mother recognized that her duty to Vane was to come before her personal life. It would behoove you well to do the same. You are royalty but traditions exist for a reason and changing them on a whim would be a disservice to your people and future generations of the Ausa line."

"I understand all of this must be difficult to hear," Alastair said, giving her a gentle glance. "But I can assure you that it is all true, Majesty. And while Master Robin's explanation of the customary expectations needs some tempering, she is right in those regards."

Robin shrugged at him. "I wanted the points made clear. It's obvious Majesty Lemia did not bother to impart such important information to Majesty Mia."

"You made your points _crystal_ clear," Gregory reprimanded, though his voice held the guise of a tease. "Best let us handle the rest, Master Robin."

The healer scoffed at him. "Gregory, you have the least room to argue—"

"Because I'm the best at it?" he interrupted with a smirk.

Mia sighed at their banter but immediately turned the conversation back to the uncomfortable discussion. "True or not, it's still ridiculous. I always just believed the Premier was chosen on his abilities with magic and his obligation and allegiance to the Guild. These are qualities one would expect in an instructor, administrator, and diplomat, correct?"

Tamora nodded. "Yes they are Majesty, and the Premier must be someone who can handle all of that responsibility and more. His first duty is to lead the Guild and serve as an ambassador. However, to protect the future of Vane, he also needs to father your child—to ensure that the strength of the magic within the Ausa line remains what it has always been."

The Guildmaster's face turned bright pink as she folded her hands in her lap and smoothed the pale blue fabric of her dress. "I'm not ready to have children. Nor will I be for many years," she answered.

"You'll be twenty-one in a few weeks," Robin reminded her. "Your mother had you at eighteen. By our count, you're already behind, but I don't think anyone really faults you given the Fall."

"I am not having a child now, Master Robin," Mia repeated, her eyes narrowed. "And just for the record, when the time comes and I decide to marry and have a family, it will not be a forced relationship based upon the demands and ideals of a fossilized society that should have changed years ago."

Robin said coldly, "When traditions are not followed, there are consequences. Are you ready for those consequences, Majesty?"

"I am ready for change," Mia countered.

Tamora sighed. "Let us put this to rest, Master Robin." Turning to Mia, she gave a slight bow of her head. "The choice of a Premier is yours, Majesty. Our only concern as the Council is that whomever you choose is of noble birth and gifted with powerful magic."

"That, and that you make your decision before your twenty-second birthday," Alastair said gently. "Or else by law, we are required to make it for you."

The Guildmaster shook her head in disgust and disbelief as her hands curled into fists in her lap. All of this was incredulous—using a man like that and keeping him as a dirty little secret! No wonder her father had seemed so distant! By the very traditions that allowed her mother choose him, he was kept away from her! Would he have been a different person if Vane had allowed the three of them to live as a family? Would having a loving relationship have kept his heart from darkening and making him able to commit his crimes? She sighed, thinking that perhaps the traditions of Vane played more of a part in the Fall than anyone wanted to admit.

And then, if these ridiculous traditions weren't enough, now they were saying the arrangement could be forced if necessary. That couldn't be right, could it? Vane wouldn't have such barbaric traditions just to ensure the power of the Ausa Dynasty would it?

"You can't be serious! How could you possibly make such a decision for someone? How would something like that even be tolerated?" Mia asked, giving a sweeping glower of ice at all of them.

"You should ask Master Gregory," Robin said, glaring at the Illusionist who had surprisingly managed to remain quiet throughout most of the discussion. "He was offered the position of Premier by your grandmother and refused her. Then, he disappeared from Vane until she died. She spent so long pining for him that the Council at the time had no choice but to appoint a Premier for her."

"Appoint one?" Mia raised a brow at the tact the healer was using for once.

Robin nodded emphatically. "Yes, and he was expected to carry _all_ of out his duties and if he could not, the Council would take further action."

"Amise drops," Tamora supplied. "If necessary, of course."

Mia looked at all of them in astonishment. "A hex? On your Guildmaster?"

"As I said," Robin sighed, rubbing her forehead in irritation that she had to repeat herself. "We do what is necessary to protect the strength of the Ausa line. Had Master Gregory not been such a coward, it would not have been necessary."

Gregory said nothing, though Mia could tell that he desperately wanted to disappear. It would have been so simple, a tiny spell and a touch of his palms together, and he would've vanished the way he'd entered. But she knew he wouldn't leave her alone, not with Robin in such rare form as she was today.

After a long, tense pause the Illusionist spoke, his eyes not leaving the polished marble of the table. "Your insult may be closer to the truth than you know, Master Robin, but I'd prefer to keep my personal life out of this discussion."

Mia looked at Gregory with pained eyes. He was always the first to smile and the last to complain but it was obvious that this was upsetting him despite his polite response to Robin. "Master Gregory, I apologize for Master Robin's insensitivity in speaking of such matters that are obviously upsetting to you and have little bearing on this meeting."

The ageless mage bowed his head and gave a forced smile. "Thank you, Majesty, but no apology is necessary. While I wish Master Robin would use more discretion in bringing up certain subjects she obviously doesn't fully comprehend, I do believe you needed to learn the truth."

"What is there to comprehend?" The healer snapped. "My father told me what he and the rest of the Council was forced to do. Majesty Relina would have died without a daughter and where would that have left us? It's not my fault you don't want to listen to your failures, Master Gregory. You _chose_ to write yourself out of history."

Gregory simply shook his head at Robin and once again, with a few well-constructed sentences he put her back in her place. "You show how little you truly know with that statement, Master Robin. I wish not to discuss this further and I believe our Guildmaster has more plans for her Premier than just to use him as an evening's distraction. Our faculty—the heart of our city—need a leader and she has stated she does not want a consort at this time. We should support her in this as we support her in all of her decisions." His eyes soft were as he looked at Mia. "Who do you have in mind?"

Relieved, Mia gave a thankful smile to Gregory for changing the subject. "The only person who deserves it."

"You'll need to be more specific, Majesty," Robin said. "There are plenty of young men in the Guild who deserve the honor."

She spoke the name quietly, almost reverently. "Nash."

"Nash? After he betrayed us to Ghaleon?" Robin asked with a snort of disgust. "Besides, his little temper tantrum back in March set us a few weeks behind schedule. Not to mention the two of you haven't spoken since."

Mia glared at the woman. "He has more than paid for his transgressions."

"Yes, and so have we. Our city is no longer in the air thanks to the two of them."

Mia kept her voice even as she answered the testy healer. "Nash had nothing to do with that. Need I remind you that he worked night and day to rebuild this city? While many of you were living comfortably on Black Rose Street, Nash was here with the engineers and architects trying to get the buildings habitable."

"You avoided my other points, Majesty," Robin said, tapping her pen anxiously to her paper.

The rebuke was pointed yet still delivered in Mia's kind tone. "Points that are not worth my time to address, Master Robin."

Tamora asked, "Did Nash know about what Ghaleon did to your mother? Locking her inside her own head and replacing her with a shape-shifter?"

"No. He did not."

"How can you be so certain?"

"He told me so."

Tamora gave her a tender, but questioning look as she toyed with one of her earrings. "And you believed him?"

"Of course I did. He's proven his loyalty to Vane, and to me, many times over since then."

Mia felt the eyes of the Council on her. Some judged, some questioned, some wondered, but they all knew about the romance she'd had with Nash. As two of the Heroes, it was considered epic, immortalized in minstrel tunes along with their adventures. But even if the songs tell a different tale, Heroes can fall from grace, dreams can die, and hearts can break.

Sinking back into her chair, Mia met Gregory's eyes. From the small smile that played on the Illusionist's lips, she knew he would support her even if he did not have much to say at the moment.

"Let's not forget he hasn't even passed the Master's Exam," Robin said.

"There was no one to administer it these past few years," Alastair answered.

"He has his Master's Badge," Gregory said. "Whether or not he sat for the exam matters not. Majesty Mia gave it to him, as she did with many of our younger faculty members upon seeing their dedication to rebuilding Vane. And let us not forget his efforts in defeating the Magic Emperor."

"I still don't see how this is going to work." That was Robin again, now speaking as if Mia wasn't even there. "They don't talk to each other at all. We'll never see an heir out of the two of them."

The Guildmaster stood up and drew a breath. She had expected a fight, but a fight about whether the title of Premier had been too tarnished to reinstate. She had not anticipated a battle that placed archaic traditions against her ideals and her ability to have a child as the highest measure of her worth. Deciding to end this discussion once and for all, she drew herself to her full height of just a hand over five feet as her dark violet eyes reflected her resolve. "I am choosing Nash on account of his talents as a magician and a leader, not as a husband or a consort or whatever term you'd care to use to make the tradition sound less reprehensible. This may be against the customs of Vane, but it is time that things around here changed. We are all too stuck in the elitist traditions of the past. I want us to move forward. My personal feelings for Nash are not playing a part in my choice." She paused for an instant. "You said it was my decision and my decision alone. Very well, I have given you my answer. I want a Premier who will stand behind my decisions and support me in my failures and successes. I do not want a marriage, no matter how it is disguised."

Silence held in the room as the Guildmaster's words fell upon the ears of her Council. She brushed some of her jet-black bangs out of her eyes, steeling her gaze to counter the next wave of criticism.

"I don't understand how you can choose Nash for those reasons, since he and you don't even speak to each other, Majesty." Tamora began. "How can he stand behind you when the two of you can't be in the same room without the tension becoming unbearable for anyone nearby? Why just last week I was taking lunch in the faculty dining hall and enjoying a conversation with him. Then you entered, and the air grew so dense you would have thought he had cast a spell to summon a bolt of lightning! And then, if you recall, Majesty, after you tried to greet him and start a simple conversation he stood up and left without so much as a goodbye."

Although she was speaking the truth, Tamora's words still stung. Mia's voice was quiet as she responded, but her tone was full of determination. "Nash will come around. We won't let our personal feelings come between us. Both of us are perfectly capable of being professional."

"Not from what I've seen," Robin said with a snide grin.

"What about his family background?" Tamora asked. "Someone who does not even have a last name can't possibly have the correct bloodlines for such a title."

Mia raised a brow at the brunette. "Nash's background means little to me. The man that he is and the mage that he is—these are the things that matter. So he does not have a fancy last name to impress you with. So what? He's been Nash of Vane as long as any of us have known him. He is as much Vanetian as you or I."

"I don't agree, Majesty," Robin scowled. "Again, I urge you to select another, and to uphold your first duty to the Guild—that being to provide a descendant with the training and ability to rule and defend Vane. Need I remind you that no Guildmaster has lived past the age of forty? You will be twenty-one in a few weeks. Time is running out. If you were to match that age, that would only give you eighteen years with your daughter. Only eighteen years to train her for the responsibility that lies ahead of her." Then as an afterthought, she added sharply: "Something your own mother was clearly lax in doing!"

Mia stared down at the table, her rounded shoulders almost telling of defeat. She knew that Guildmasters had the unfortunate destiny of a very young death, often leaving their Premiers with the duty of raising their daughter. But she wasn't ready to surrender. Not yet, and certainly not to Robin. Slowly, she raised her head and stared into the healer's stern brown eyes, "And given my parentage, maybe that's another tradition that will end with me."

"You may be half of whatever that _demon_ was—" Robin snorted.

Mia's patience with the Master of Healing Magic was just about at its end. Interrupting her, she said, "Ghaleon loved my mother and I, and he certainly wasn't a demon. A misguided fool, blinded by what he saw as the only way, but never a demon. And, why my mother hid the fact that he was my father from me until she died just shows how wrong these traditions are!"

Alastair asked gently, "Would you have been able to kill him, having known?"

"I don't know," Mia said, truth flowing in her words. "Regardless, this is not about marriage. I won't let it be about marriage."

"As you wish, Majesty, but please just remember time is fleeting," Robin said, rubbing her forehead. "The price for a human naturally commanding two elements is high. Strong magic taxes the body. You know this. Your own mother died at thirty-eight."

Mia narrowed her violet eyes at the terse woman and snapped, "As you so eloquently explained, Master Robin, I am not completely human."

"Yes you _are_," Tamora corrected decisively as she ran her finger along the chain of her necklace. "All of Vane must believe that you are or else there could be trouble. You recognize that this little understanding about the traditional relationship between the Guildmaster and Premier is kept secret? It would do you well to not mention such things in public. The last thing we need is someone bent on revenge for the Fall of Vane killing the daughter of the man who caused it."

Mia gave a slight nod and sat back down. "I do not intend to advertise it, but effective immediately, this tradition is no more."

"You may change the laws," Tamora said quietly. "But you cannot throw a thousand years of tradition out the window in such short order. Surely you recognize the importance of producing an heir?"

"I do, but I don't think such things have a place in my life right now."

"I understand, child," Tamora answered. "But I urge you to consider taking care in making this decision. Don't make the same mistake your mother did, Majesty. She fell in love with a man who used her. She gave him—against the Council's wishes, for he was the first outsider to receive it—the most sought-after title in the magic using world, and he betrayed her, you, and us. The only reason the Council did not interfere is because he had saved our world. But that meant nothing! Look at what he did in the years after! Nash is just like him—he was his apprentice. Like teacher, like student! After that storm two months ago—"

Mia cut her off with an emphatic wave of her hand. "That was partially my fault, Master Tamora. I assure you, it will _never_ happen again."

"Let us pray it doesn't," Alastair said. "I doubt we could afford such repairs at the moment. The festival with three banquets is going to be expensive. If you now want to inaugurate a Premier, that will add to the cost as well."

"What does an inauguration entail?" Mia asked, pleased to have a new direction for the discussion.

"Assuming he accepts?" Robin's questioned sarcastically.

"A ceremony in front of the faculty, citizens, and students," Gregory said, frowning at the healer. "It is traditional to hold a reception afterwards."

"Perhaps we could incorporate it into the festival, then," Mia suggested. "As the finale of the week."

Robin frowned, the lines around her unpainted lips running deep with frustration. "It is not something anyone from outside of Vane would appreciate."

"Master Robin, I want Vane accessible to all. To achieve that goal, we have to make things that we used to consider sacred available to the public."

The healer sighed, giving in to defeat on that issue. "So be it, but still, for the sake of Vane, you must prove Nash has the correct heritage to wear such a mantle. No one knows where he came from—he just showed up here one day. For all we know, he could be some inbred hick!"

Mia shook her head, her long black curls bouncing with her determination. "That would not matter to me in the slightest. Consider that we are opening the Guild to anyone who wishes to learn magic by my decree before you choose to insult people who were not as _blessed_ as you to be born here in Vane to a prominent family."

"We have spoken at length about your decision in the past, Majesty," Robin retorted. "I still believe it is a disservice to Vane and our citizens."

"Your opinion was not asked for on the matter at this time, Master Robin."

"But it is my duty as a member of your Council to give it, Majesty."

Tamora turned one of her opulent ruby bracelets around her wrist. "This was settled more than two years ago at our first meeting after the Fall, Master Robin. I suggest we move away from the topic and continue with the matter at hand."

The room was silent as Mia held a hand to her forehead as though trying to hold back her thoughts on all that had just been revealed and deflect the pain of her Council's words. They all seemed to be awaiting her admission of defeat but she wasn't going to give them the satisfaction.

Finally, after long moments of silence, Gregory stood up. He straightened the front of his black robe before addressing the group. "Our Guildmaster has made her decision. I stand by her, as should all of you. Whether or not Nash was born into the correct class or has a fine name should make little difference. He was one of the Five Heroes who saved our world. He was one of the people who spent the past five years working tirelessly to rebuild our city. We all owe our freedom, if not our very lives, to him. Should this trifle of his heritage be of any concern to any of you, I have a solution that should end any further discussion of the subject."

The Guildmaster and the other councilors all looked at the Illusionist with utter surprise as he spoke in his usual calm and measured voice as he told them of his plan. Robin shook her head in contempt, but the others just sat in stunned silence completely astounded by the words of the ageless mage.


	3. Chapter Two

_Author's Note: The second section of this chapter contains some vague references to sexual situations involving questionable/dubious consent. The material is still within the "Teen" rating, but I felt it best to warn. Thanks -K  
_

_

* * *

_

_**Rise from Ashes  
**_**Chapter Two**

_**

* * *

**_"Left, damn it!" Artemus shouted at the mage who was levitating the frame of the canopy for the newly built stage. The engineer stood on top of the structure as it was magically maneuvered, gripping the peak of the center beam and making demands with a healthy dose of sarcasm and more than a few curses. "Your _other_ left!"

The massive truss framework slowly shifted direction as the curt order was followed.

"More, damn it! Another three feet! Come on! Don't screw this up!" came the instruction from overhead. The adjustment was quickly made and the next command given. "Looking good! And down! Make it gentle because I don't wanna build this friggin' thing again!"

Slowly, the large canopy began to descend towards the platform that occupied most of the northern area of the western courtyard. Artemus' workers standing on the ground cheered as it met the top plate of the three bare framed walls that surrounded the stage. They didn't get much of a break. After a few more curses from the engineer, another magician levitated the workers so they could secure the roof to the stage walls.

More orders were barked. "Make sure it's level before you do that! No, damn it! On the center mark! Don't improvise! It's got to be secured on the load bearing members! I don't want this damn thing falling down!" The demands were met, and amazingly, less than an hour later, the frame of the stage was finished. It was perfect timing, too. Dusk was falling and the workers and mages were tired.

"Tomorrow we'll finish the walls," Artemus said to the departing group, still standing a top the thing, ready to inspect their work before crossing it off the ever-growing list. "Be here after breakfast."

"You gonna come out with us tonight, Boss?" Rouke, a burly fellow with red hair called up to the engineer.

"Nope. I got stuff to do," was the answer. "Don't get too drunk but toss one back for me."

"Passing up tequila on yer birthday? Must be some serious work."

"I'll make up for it later. When this festival shit is over, I'm getting so wasted that the hangover lasts until winter!"

Rouke laughed and gave a wave. "See you tomorrow, Master Artemus."

The engineer smirked and returned the farewell. "Don't you be calling me 'Master!' I work for a living!"

One of the mages who had been helping gave a shake of her head at Artemus. Though the title of "Master" had been certainly been earned by hard work, it hardly seemed to fit the person who was currently sitting on the roof of Majesty Mia's brand new stage.

Although, in honesty, Artemus would've agreed with their assessment. Masters of the Magic Guild of Vane were renowned the world over for their rigid, yet elegant traditions, fine clothes, sophisticated vocabulary—and most importantly their exceptional ability with magic.

Artemus of Lann had none of those things.

What she did have was a slight ability with water magic and an unrivaled knowledge of engineering, architecture, and construction. Not to mention a very colorful way with words.

Dressed in stained work pants, a sweat-soaked green shirt, blue bandana, and a leather climbing harness she'd designed herself, she hadn't worn a tunic or robe since her days as a student. _Student_ might have been too generous a term. She had attended the Magic Guild before the Fall, but her heart wasn't in the study of magic. Her parents had sent her to Vane in the hopes that one of their children would be educated. Her eight older brothers had managed to escape the fate of formal schooling but she hadn't been so lucky.

Although Artemus somehow managed to pass the Trial, she found studying magic boring. Memorizing spells, learning casting concentration, it was awful. Besides, the only curses Artie really cared to know were those that should never be used in pleasant company.

Instead, she'd spent much of her time studying engineering and architecture and combined that with the knowledge of shipbuilding she'd learned from her family. In the years before the Fall, she never quite fit in, and was just about to leave for good. Then, after the city was on the ground and in ruins, the magicians realized they needed someone like her. It was poetic justice in a way.

Sitting there in the evening sun, she stretched her arms overhead and smiled. The city was peaceful this time of day. The dual walls that Mel de Alkirk had financed for them took on an eerie glow, their white surfaces refracting the rays of the setting sun. Walls were something Vane had never had before as being an island in the sky negated the need for one. But now, on the ground, they had two. They were set a large distance apart, with the outer one about ten feet lower than the inner. In yet another adaptation the city had to make when it became grounded, members of the army now patrolled along the wall-walks and towers constantly lest there be any trouble. Artie had designed the space between the walls for the keeping animals, supplies, and pumps for a sewer system that she'd based on Meribia's. It also provided a safe place for visitors to camp if they did not want to stay at an inn.

Inside the city, all the private residences and shops had been rebuilt and the Guild Manor barely looked different. It was still five stories tall, the exterior constructed of stone and the inside decorated in ornate woodwork and the ubiquitous seal of the House of Ausa. Even the pools, gardens, and courtyards had been restored to their former glory despite the drastic difference in the landscape. The only major change was that the Library had been moved inside the Manor, a decision made by Majesty Mia in an effort to make it more convenient for members of the Guild.

Artie glanced up at the two towers behind the Guild Manor. The Crystal Tower on the left and the Silver Spire on the right were two of Vane's secrets. A chill ran up her back just looking at them. After the city fell, they were about twenty degrees off center and she'd spent many nights pondering how she'd be able to fix them. Then, the second Majesty Mia showed up, they straightened themselves like soldiers saluting a superior officer. Magic. It may have solved some problems, but the engineer didn't put too much faith in it.

"You built the stage in a single day?" a surprised onlooker called up to her.

She knew that voice all too well. Looking down at the attractive, auburn-haired man who wore his bangs in an impossibly perfect sweep, she grinned. Close to her own age and one of the first friends she'd made in Vane, she never resisted the chance to tease him. "Haven't you learned not to doubt me, Nash? But it's not done. Still need to cover the frame."

"Well, I'm still impressed."

"I aim to please," she said, standing up and pulling tools off her belt. "Look out. I need to throw my tools down before I rappel off this thing."

"Let me get you down. I won't drop you. I promise."

She raised a doubtful brow at him. "No thanks. I've had enough magic for one day."

He laughed at her skepticism. "I was surprised when Gregory told me that you had some magicians out here helping."

She took the rope off her tool belt and started to fasten it to her harness. "Well, I had two crews work on it so it would go faster—one on the stage and the other on the canopy. So, to raise this damn thing, it was either magic or run block and tackles off the Guild Manor again. It would have taken an extra day just to set the rigging and with my luck my guys would break a window or something. With the festival just a little more than a week away, that would've been a real nightmare."

"You sure you don't want some help getting down?"

Artie frowned. It was a good fifteen feet to the ground and with darkness falling, she certainly didn't want to. While she didn't like trusting magic to solve her problems, if anyone was capable of casting a simple levitation spell, it was Nash. "Fine, but if I don't land on my feet, you're gonna be in big trouble."

"Come on, it'll be fun! Just try to relax," he said with a smirk. "Tell me when you're ready."

"I'll bet you say that to all the girls!" Artie said as she secured her tools in their holsters. "All right, I'm ready."

He gave a nod and then began to chant. Holding the first two fingers of each hand together, he crossed them against one another and the distinct yellow color of his aura flashed as the spell was cast.

Artie descended slowly and once she had both feet on the ground, she gave him a wink. "I never had a man move me quite like that."

"Call it talent."

"Or something," she said, pulling off her bandana and shaking the sawdust out of her short sandy-brown hair. "Thanks, though."

"Sure," he answered, pausing for a moment before lowering his voice and glancing around for eavesdroppers. "Did that skylight ever come in?"

"The one for Majesty Mia's bedroom?"

He nodded.

"Not yet," she said, tying her bandana back on her head. "Those things take awhile to make, and my glazier in Meribia is backlogged. Plus, I don't know where I'm going to get the money for it. Have you priced leaded crystal lately? That damn thing is going set us back eighty thousand silver."

"That much?"

"Yeah," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "That's how much it cost the first time. You know, when you convinced me to add it to the plans?" She shook her head and gave him a smirk. "Such a romantic idea, but maybe you should've thought about that before you blew it up."

He didn't bother to try and feign innocence and just gave a sigh.

She raised a brow at him. "I might have been born in the dark but it wasn't last night, Nash. While no one's crediting you for the actual storm, your signature was all over those lightning strikes."

He closed his eyes and sighed again. "Don't worry about the cost. I'm going to pay for it somehow."

"You got that kind of money just lying around?" she asked skeptically.

"No, but I'll figure something out," he said, scratching the back of his neck.

"Well, once this festival crap is over, I'll send someone back up there and see what's going on it with it." She took a folded piece of paper out of her back pocket and waved it at him. "My list gets longer each day and I can't spare the manpower at the moment."

"I understand," he said. "What else is on there?"

"Stuff that falls under the category of piss-poor planning on someone else's part becoming an emergency on mine." She frowned, sliding the creased paper back into her pocket. "Majesty Mia really should think some things through a little better."

"She's got a lot on her plate right now," he said, his voice distant as he looked up at the stage.

"And I'm sure you're being a big help."

"I'm doing what I can."

"Well, I mean, you'd think she'd have realized earlier that all these people she invited weren't going to fit in the Great Hall," Artie said, not wanting to venture too far into sore territory. "I could've had this thing built weeks ago and it wouldn't have been a rush job."

"It still looks good."

"I know," she said with a grin. "Sometimes I even amaze myself. I owe you for your help with the drawing, though."

"It was no trouble," he said.

"Who knew you were such an artist," she smirked, giving him a playful poke on the arm. "I still need to teach you to think like an engineer so that talent won't go to waste."

"Teach away," he laughed.

Seeing a board on the platform that looked a bit crooked, she took the small level off her belt. "First lesson: the glass isn't half full or half empty, it's twice as large as it needs to be."

"There's a glass?" he asked.

"You're hopeless, you know that?" she teased, setting the level on the piece of lumber she'd been studying a moment before. Giving it a look of disgust, she slid her hammer from its holster.

"So you keep telling me," he laughed.

"Gotta keep you honest," she answered as she tapped the askew board. "Can't let you get that big head you used to have."

He frowned and changed the subject. "I'm just glad Master Alastair convinced Mia to put the stage in the courtyard. He said she originally wanted to have all the banquets in the plaza."

"That would've been a disaster, both security and logistics wise," Artie said, putting her tools back on her belt. "Not to mention this thing would've blocked the Guild Manor. After all the work we put into that, she needs to show it off."

He nodded, his thoughts obviously somewhere else as he gazed up at the building. "Hard to believe it was in ruins only five years ago."

Artie nodded but was hardly one to rest on her laurels for long. "Yeah. Well, I better get back to work."

"You're not done for the night?"

"Nope. I need to draw up a schematic for my guys to follow on the placement of those glow globes she wants out here. I'm hoping Darshak can spare some guards to set the pikes, but I'm not counting on it."

"Anything I can do?" he asked.

"Nash? Offering to help?" she feigned surprise. "And it's not teaching pretty girls hair-growing spells?"

He chuckled. "I'm serious."

"Nah, I got this," she said, turning to leave. "But if you could use that hocus pocus of yours to work me up some forty-hour days, that would awesome."

Raising his hands in a playful casting gesture, he laughed. "Be careful what you wish for, Artie."

* * *

Sabre had stopped screaming, fighting back, and begging for mercy years ago. There really was no point to it. No matter what she said, her master would still do what he wanted to her. Over the years, she'd learned that being silent and hiding her fear and repulsion gave her a small amount of control over the situation. This also frustrated him, and knowing that granted her a bit of vicious satisfaction.

Gravitt wasn't particularly cruel this time and it was over rather quickly. Generally, he'd leave some bruises or split her lip, but tonight, it was just rough. He'd grabbed her hair, hastily took what he wanted, and then told her to get dressed and get the hell out of his sight. All too eager to leave his tent, she threw on just enough clothes to cover herself.

She didn't have to ask herself why he did this to her. She knew. He did it because no one else _could_.

Sabre knew it just fed his disgustingly huge ego to touch a woman who could drop a man twice her size with just the brush of her hand. The Death Child of the Prairie was what the tribes had called her. She hated the title, but it was the truth. Her emotions manifested as magic through her touch and she had little control over it. If that wasn't unpleasant enough, the drain on her body from using it often made her ill.

Some years ago, she'd almost killed her younger brother. It wasn't deliberate but he'd made the mistake to put his hand over her mouth. His intentions had been good as he'd tried to quiet her while she was panicked during a raid on their camp. An instant later, poor Ashu was knocked out cold and she was so dizzy she could barely walk.

But Gravitt had been completely immune to magic since birth, so she had no effect on him. He was cursed just as his father had been-no magic, no taste, no smell, and probably no soul, either. She was certain there were other things he lacked, but neither he nor his father ever discussed them.

His father, Zigguratt, hadn't been a terrible master to serve. He'd bought her and Brinson when they were still children and treated them well. He only asked that they play with his son, perhaps in an effort to humanize him. Despite their best efforts, that never happened, and neither did his promise of freeing the two of them on her eighteenth birthday. Just a week before that day, Gravitt murdered his father in his sleep and took over rule of the small city and their lives. She and Brinson had tried to run away that night—and numerous times after—but never succeeded. Gravitt's men were always one step ahead of them so no matter what scheme they attempted, they were never able to make it out of the gates of Briggatt.

Briggatt. The small mining city had been her home since she was thirteen. Though it had flourished as a resource for jewels under his father, Gravitt had managed to run the place into the ground in less than a month of assuming power. He was all too open about his own agenda and feeding his people was not one of them. Her master only took delight in things that allowed him to dominate others. One of his favorite pastimes was sacking smaller towns on the Prairie just to show the strength of his mercenaries.

As much as she hated it, Sabre had been a willing part of those games because Gravitt always had one thing he could hold over her head and he never let her forget it. Although she had resolved to stop being afraid of him years ago, there were some things she wasn't willing to risk. He knew full well of this weakness and delighted in exploiting it.

But really, what did it all come down to? She hated him. He loved that she hated him. It was a match made in Hell.

Standing outside his tent, she pulled on her boots and leaned over to vomit. It was no longer a reaction of having to pleasure him but of her magic being drained. Gravitt may have been immune, but Sabre still suffered as it was drawn from her. She stood there for a good fifteen minutes, wiping her brow and praying her stomach would settle.

"Mommy?" her five-year-old son called as he trotted up. "Guess what?"

"What, Tristan?"

"Brinson let me help him!" he beamed, his thick red-brown hair pulling in the evening breeze.

She gave a tired nod. "Where is he?"

"Tying up the horses."

She smiled at her son, thankful that he had been elsewhere for the last half an hour. There was only one thing her master had ever given her that she was grateful for-Tristan. Though Gravitt never claimed the child as his own, he made sure to keep the boy close as a way to maintain a stronger hold on Sabre. There were things she may have risked her own life for, or even Brinson's, but nothing could convince her to put her son in harm's way and Gravitt knew it, damn him.

Upon hearing the child's voice, Gravitt stuck his head out of his tent and called to him. "Tristan! Come! It is time to sleep."

Sabre gave the boy a quick hug before he headed off to be held hostage for the night. "Sleep well."

"I will, Mommy."

With a smirk, Gravitt said to her, "Be ready to ride at dawn."

She didn't answer him and just pulled on the soft black gloves she wore to protect others from her gift. She sighed, watching Brinson approach, their bedrolls slung over his shoulder. Known as The Quake Child of the Prairie, he was a tall, thin, bespectacled man with tawny eyes. Just a year older than she, he'd been her friend since Zigguratt had bought them. Brinson wore his blonde hair long, always tied in a ponytail with black and green ribbons plaited near his ear on the left.

"I'm sorry," he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. He knew what had happened. He always knew and he always blamed himself. There was no way to stop it. She'd told him that a hundred times, but he never listened.

"Nothing to be sorry for," she said, moving the discussion into the Tribal language. "Thank you for keeping Tristan busy."

"Sabre…"

She didn't want to talk about it. "Where did you take the horses to drink?"

"There's a stream over there."

"Is it deep?"

"Deep enough."

"Take me there," she said, keeping her eyes on the ground.

He pulled a blanket from his bedroll before tossing them both inside the tent they were to share. Then, leading her in the direction he'd just come from he frowned as they passed the dozen mercenaries that Gravitt always traveled with. The men snickered as they sat around the fire eating their meal. From the smell, she guessed it to be rabbit, but after being sick to her stomach, she honestly could've cared less.

Gravitt's men were always derisive to the Tribals but two of them in particular—Marcus and Phillip—were downright malicious. Sabre hated them almost as much as she hated Gravitt. Although they'd only joined his band two years ago, he seemed to trust them more than any of the others.

Since Marcus and Phillip had arrived, the number of towns that Gravitt sacked had risen considerably and the spoils disappeared much faster. Both of them never hesitated to use powerful magic against the residents even if it wasn't necessary. Sabre had never heard spells like the ones they used, and as superficial as it was, she hated their accents. She wasn't sure where they were from, but they definitely were not from anywhere near the Prairie.

"Take care of business?" Marcus sneered at her as she walked by. "We don't want him grumpy tomorrow."

Brinson glowered at him, the ground under foot beginning to shake as he walked closer to man, but Sabre touched her friend's shoulder and stepped in front of him. This was her fight. All she needed to do was start to take off a glove and Marcus shut up, quickly putting food in his mouth as if to stuff the words back down his throat. She'd knocked him out once before and he still hadn't forgotten how painful it was. That time, it had been worth the moments of vomiting.

The rest of the mercenaries were smart enough to say nothing as she and Brinson finished passing them.

Finally at the stream and away from those idiots and Gravitt, Sabre quickly stripped out of her clothing and slid down the bank into the water. She didn't mind if Brinson watched her bathe. They'd been through so much together that nakedness was insignificant.

Stretching her arms up, she looked at the low hanging clouds in the distance and sat there in silence for a good long while. A storm would be coming. She was glad for that. Maybe it would wash away what was left of the shame.

"We're going to Vane," Brinson said, standing behind her and speaking again in their first language. "I've always wanted to go there."

Shivering, she climbed out of the water. "It's just another city. I bet they keep their women half dressed and unarmed."

"Sabre," he sighed, placing the blanket over her shoulders. "Don't pass judgment. Their customs are as important to them as ours are to us."

"We are slaves," she reminded him as she dried herself. "We have no customs, unless you count what Gravitt has us do a custom and in that case I should slap you."

He tugged at the red and blue ribbons she wore in her bright red hair, in the same place as his—near her ear on the left. Her hair was safe to touch and he relished every second she let him play with it. "We have them. He can't take those away from us."

"He takes what he wants," she spat, pulling away from him and starting to dress.

Brinson couldn't argue with that and sat tiredly on the ground. After a moment, he repeated an oath he'd spoken thousands of times before. "I swear to Althena I will kill him some day."

She finished putting on her clothes in silence before sitting next to him. "You say that all the time. I say that all the time."

"Maybe we'll find a way in Vane," he said, reaching out to tangle his fingers in her hair again.

"Maybe," she sighed, letting him touch her. "But I don't think devils can die."

"He may be immune to magic," Brinson said. "But I'd love to put a dozen arrows in his back."

"We tried that once," she said, leaning back against him. The one she'd managed to hit him with struck through his armor but all he did was laugh. It was as if the blow tickled him! Without even a wince of pain, he'd dismounted, grabbed her by her hair, dragged her across the path, and didn't stop laughing until he finished exacting retribution on her.

Arrows, magic, blades…they'd tried it all. And even though it went against the tenets of their Tribes, they tried running away. Nothing worked, and then Tristan came along and it just became necessary to put up with it.

They sat in silence for a long time, long enough for the rain to begin to fall and thunder clasp in the distance. He rested his chin on top of her head and spoke cautiously. "Maybe they could help you? In Vane, I mean."

"They would not waste their time with people like us," she said, finally pulling on her gloves. "When Ashu and I were little, our parents took us to Tamur to have our gifts read by a mage from there. He was arrogant and rude and when my mother asked if the mages in Vane would be able to help me, he just laughed."

"I heard they changed the law. Anyone is welcome there now."

"Who told you that?" she asked, trying to ignore his warm breath on her neck. It just reminded her of the things she couldn't have.

"When we were in Nerak two months ago and I ran into that old mage from Vane," Brinson said, a bit of hope in his words. "He said he was an advisor to the Guildmaster."

"I don't see what they could do for me."

"It's worth asking, though."

She shook her head and sighed. "What should I do? Just walk up to the nearest mage and say, 'I have the devil's touch, can you help me?'"

"Yours is no different than mine or any of those of us blessed by the Goddess."

"People don't pass out when you touch them," she said, tangling her gloved fingers into his hand.

"No, but the earth responds to my feelings just as yours are projected through your touch." He dragged a finger along the back of her sodden shirt.

That was true, but he had much more control over his and it wasn't constantly getting in the way of life. He could call the earth, but as long as her skin was exposed, her magic was activated. "Maybe," she sighed. Maybe, if Gravitt let them have any freedom.

He must have read her thoughts. "I think he's going to be busy. The way Phillip was talking, it sounds like he has some kind of scheme planned."

"What would he want with Vane?" she asked, still watching the storm and enjoying the feel of the rain on her skin.

"I don't know," he said, following her gaze to the lightning in the distance. "Immune to magic or not, he'd have to deal with their army and guards and a probably a bunch of other defenses that are out of his league. Especially since it's home to two of the Heroes."

"What was Phillip saying?" she asked.

"Well, that he had to act like a gentleman trader," Brinson said. "He was also telling him about some of their traditions, what to wear, how to address people, and what to expect. Funny that Phillip should know so much about Vane."

"Phillip was telling him how to behave?" Sabre snorted. "I'm surprised he walked away with his hide intact."

"Me too."

"We must be careful, then."

He nodded. "If Gravitt is taking orders all of sudden this can't be one of his usual games."

Sabre sighed, trying not to think about what Gravitt may have planned. "Yeah."

"We should get back to camp," he said, though not making any effort to move.

"In a minute," she answered, watching another bolt of lightning strike. She closed her eyes, trying to sense the source of the storm. "It is beautiful," she finally said. "But it is not Ashu's."

* * *

Mia stood in her office and looked out one of the large windows. Gazing over the plaza in front of the Guild Manor she watched as mages bustled about, working to prepare for the festival. Flags and banners were being hung and glow globes set for the happy occasion. Music played and the sound of laughter made her smile. It was good to see everyone working together to make this happen. She would've been down there helping herself but she had a very important appointment in the next hour. Well, she believed she did, assuming the other party would decide to show up.

She glanced to the portrait of her mother than hung on the opposite wall and sighed. How she wished her mother had lived just another six months to see this! Though she'd sworn to make Vane what it once was, she wasn't certain she'd be able to make them fly again. She hoped her mother wasn't disappointed that this festival was taking place on the ground instead of in the air.

Poor Lemia never recovered from what Ghaleon did to her, but she was at least able to live in Vane for a year before she died. Though she'd told Mia she was proud of what she had accomplished, when they had traveled from Meribia and Lemia's eyes instinctively went to the sky, Mia couldn't help but feel ashamed.

With a sigh, she looked back out over the plaza and closed her eyes remembering just six months ago it had served a much more sorrowful purpose. When Lemia had finally succumbed to her illness, the first state funeral in decades—and the only one Mia had ever been a witness to—had been held there. It may have been considered the highest honor in Vane but it was far too much pomp and circumstance for her liking. And then, when she was expected to participate, all of the confidence and grace she'd forged over the past few years melted away and revealed the scared little girl she'd always been.

On that awful November day, the clouds hung low and menacing on the horizon, blocking the light of the Blue Star and making the evening sky look sinister. Though everyone was gathered in the plaza, it was the first time in years that all of Vane had been silent. There were no sounds of construction, no music, no idle chatter, no _nothing_.

All of them—the faculty, apprentices, citizens, workers, friends, visiting dignitaries, guards—stood in a large circle around the most hideous structure Mia had ever seen. Hastily laid bricks formed a base to contain the nasty mess of oil-soaked straw and what lay on top of it. Logs were arranged pointing upward at an odd angle, resting on a macabre makeshift table. On that table lay her mother's shrouded body, adorned with roses shaped into the crest of their House.

The elite guard lined a path from the Guild Manor and stood at attention as Mia and the Council walked in procession through the crowd. Alastair went first, dressed in white, then Tamora wearing red, then Robin in blue, and finally Gregory in black. She followed, holding a hand to her face and hearing only the swishing of her black and red dress on the freshly laid stones of the plaza.

She wrinkled her nose at the stench of the oil and the incense that was supposed to cover it up. Together they smelled dreadful, causing her stomach to turn. There was no sound save for the methodical footsteps of the Council as they led her slowly closer to that wretched pyre.

Words were said but she didn't really hear them. She kept glancing over her shoulder to see Nash, standing in the front row next to their friends. She'd told him she could do this. She told him to see to their guests and not to worry about her. She'd come to terms with her mother's death and it was time to say goodbye once and for all.

But now, standing there with everyone watching, she was having doubts. While each of the Council took a few minutes to eulogize Lemia, all Mia wanted to do was cover her face and cry. Gregory spoke of her bravery in fighting alongside Dragonmaster Dyne. Tamora told the crowd what a dedicated and loving mother Lemia had been. Alastair offered a prayer that Lemia had found a peaceful rest and would reunite with her ancestors on the Blue Star. Finally, Robin, speaking in as delicate a voice as Mia had ever heard from the woman, said it was time to return Lemia's body and magic to the world.

That was Mia's cue. She stepped forward as the Council arranged themselves in their usual order at her sides. It was all far too well rehearsed for something she'd never done before and she was terrified. She felt all of the eyes of Vane on her, waiting for her to light the ugly structure, built only to burn. Long minutes passed as they waited for her to cast the simplest of spells.

But she _couldn't_.

All of that strength she'd developed over the years, the quiet assurance, the ability to rule a city, to give orders, to make difficult decisions, it wasn't there anymore. She was helpless-a terrified little girl who wanted nothing more than to curl into her mother's lap. Completely paralyzed with fear and emotion, she couldn't carry out that one simple duty. She felt the tears streaking down her face and she hated that everyone was looking at her, waiting for her. No one spoke, no one moved and the only sound in the plaza was her own sobbing, the hand on her face not deadening it at all. She wasn't ready to do this. She wasn't ready to let her mother go.

It seemed like eons passed until someone dared approach her. She could tell whom it was by the short steps that clicked despondently behind her. She felt him put his hands on her shoulders, rubbing them tenderly as he whispered to her. He told her not to be afraid, to say goodbye, and know that her mother had already found rest. This was just a formality. She gave him an absent nod and felt him brush his lips against the side of her cheek, barely kissing away some of the tears. He didn't seem to care that everyone was watching them.

"I can't do it," she said, her hands shaking by her sides. "Do it for me, Nash. Please."

"No," he answered gently, still rubbing her shoulders. "You need to do this. You need to say goodbye, Mia."

She knew he was right but still couldn't bring herself to cast the spell. "Help me," she whispered plaintively. "Please help me."

"All right," he sighed. Still standing behind her, he slid his hands on top of hers and gently pushed her fingers into casting position. "Close your eyes, concentrate, don't think of where we are, let your magic speak to you," he said delicately, as if instructing a child casting her first spell. She did, feeling the rush of magic come from within. He felt it too, and then whispered the incantation into her ear. She repeated the simple words and her aura flashed its soft, purple color, illuminating the both of them. Then, tenderly and with the utmost reverence, and he guided the first two fingers of her right hand to touch the ones on her left.

A small ball of fire leapt from the air and in an instant the gruesome structure was engulfed in flames. She couldn't watch. Spinning around in his arms, she buried her face into his chest. He held her there, letting her cry on him, and clearly not caring what anyone in the crowd might have thought.

"Get me out of here, Nash," she pleaded through her tears. She hated that thousands of eyes had witnessed her pathetic display of weakness. She hated that she hadn't been strong enough to do it herself. She hated that her mother was gone. She just wanted to be alone, with him, and grieve privately. "Get me out of here now."

She heard Nash turn his head to quietly call to the Illusionist. "Gregory, please."

A second later, the two of them appeared in her bedroom—_their_ bedroom. Thankful it was over but emotionally spent, she nearly collapsed in his arms. He guided her to the sofa and sat with her there all night as she mourned her mother. He didn't care that her mascara ran all over his robe. He didn't care that he didn't get to sleep. He didn't care that they missed the somber reception where supper was being served. He just sat there and held her and she knew she had only made it through that day because of her friend—her best friend. And she hoped he would be walking through her office door at any moment.

_That_, she told herself as she sat on the couch and waited for him, _was not just romantic love but something more_. It was a friendship she had lost and desperately needed back. Perhaps he'd listen to her today. Perhaps he'd be willing to forgive her as she'd forgiven him. But, at the very least, she hoped he'd accept her offer because damn it, he was the only one who really deserved the honor.

He entered the office a few moments later, closing the door behind him and giving her the requisite bow of respect. After positioning himself far enough from her for his own comfort, he asked quietly, "You wished to see me, Majesty Mia?"

She stood up and stepped closer to him, ever so slowly, as if not to chase him off.

"How many times have I told you we don't need titles between us?" she sighed. "You're the last person who should be calling me Majesty."

"Very well," he said, glancing down at the floor.

"Nash…"

"What do you want?" he asked curtly, his dark eyes narrowing at her.

Retreating back towards the sofa, but still facing him, she forced a smile. It was obvious he was going to make this difficult. His demeanor was still the dark, frigid one he'd put on whenever she was around. "I need to talk to you about something. Come, sit down."

He gave her a wary look before crossing the room. Even then, he chose his steps carefully before resignedly sitting next to her.

Drawing a breath as she straightened herself in her seat, Mia folded her hands gracefully on her lap. "I spoke with the Council and I have decided that in light of your accomplishments and dedication to rebuilding Vane, I would like to offer you the position of Premier. You would be responsible for serving as our ambassador and running the day-to-day operations of the Guild." Then, with a bright smile she added, "Both are things you've already successfully done during the reconstruction."

He gave her a sideways glance. "This is what you want?"

"Of course it's what I want," she said. "You're the best person for the job." She knew he wouldn't argue with that.

And he didn't. But he didn't answer her; all he did was give a slight nod.

Mia fidgeted with the folds of her light green dress as she admitted. "Besides, I can't do this without you."

"I doubt that," he said, looking away from her.

"You know it's true, Nash," she said softly. "Vane is as much your legacy as it is mine. I'm not sure I'm ready for all this, but with your support, I know we will make Vane and the Guild as successful as they once were—and maybe we'll even fly again."

After a long, dreadful pause, he turned his head to look at her and she was relieved to see his eyes were gentle. It was the same glance of compassion he'd shown her so many times before and the same one she'd come to miss in the past few months. "I've told you time and time again Mia, you don't have to prove anything to anyone. On the ground or in the sky we will still be Vane. You don't need to plaster the place in gold—it makes it pretty, but it doesn't make it our home. Only _we_ can do that."

Upon hearing him use her name for the first time in months, she gave a tiny, hopeful smile. Here they were, talking like they used to, the best of friends discussing dreams she thought he'd forgotten. "You don't think we can fail? You don't think that somehow I made a mistake to change the law? That's all I hear from certain members of the faculty and the Council."

"We're not going to fail. We haven't yet! Remember how badly destroyed the city was? Look at it now, and only five years later," he said, giving her a bright smile. "We couldn't have done it without people that Vane wouldn't have accepted under the old laws. Your intentions are noble, Mia. You shouldn't listen to the people who say otherwise." Then, giving her an impish grin, he said, "Besides, don't believe anything Master Robin says. Gregory told me once that she needs to find a husband or a hobby and he doesn't care which."

Mia laughed and it felt blissful. He always could get that reaction out of her and she hadn't forgotten how much she missed it. "I can hear Gregory saying that about her. If she wasn't the best healer in the history of Vane, I don't think anyone would put up with her."

"She's a piece of work, that's for sure," he grinned, turning himself completely to face her and putting his arm over the back of her sofa. Not around her, she noticed, but close. "You know, she never liked me and even gave me demerits once."

In complete disbelief she asked, "_You_ got demerits? What did you do?"

"She caught Saltin and I jumping balconies and gave us each six demerits—which meant a week of kitchen duty. Ick."

"Do I want to know _why_ you were jumping balconies?" she teased.

A cloud of false innocence masked his face as he spoke. "We were peeking in on the girls' dorms and they saw us. I'd never heard so much screaming and shouting in my life when they realized we were there. Needless to say, we had to make a fast retreat and it looked like that was only way since neither of us were very good at levitation spells at that point." He winked at her and brushed the sweep he wore his long bangs back into its usual perfect place. "Good thing she didn't know why we were running away, huh?"

"How old were you?"

"Thirteen, I think. Saltin was a year older."

Mia giggled. "Pervert!"

"I wasn't a pervert!" he said with a smirk. "I was socially advanced!"

Still laughing, she wondered if reconciliation could be this simple. A few old memories shared, and he was back to being himself in her presence.

Nash gave her a smile and tugged at the sleeve of his dark green robe. "Anyway, Artie finished your stage this afternoon. It needs to be decorated but she said she doesn't do frills so I asked some of the apprentices and ladies on the faculty to handle it. It should be done by the end of the day."

"That was quick," Mia said.

"She works fast. Today she has a crew marking off spots where we can let the merchants set up so that they aren't in the way of any of your planned events."

"Your idea?"

He nodded. "Darshak and some of his men helped set up the pikes for the lighting around the stage and the exterior of the Manor, so that was done as well."

"We should ready some of the empty rooms for some guests," she said.

"Faculty dorms or student dorms?"

"Both, I think, though I want the best ones reserved for our friends and most generous benefactors."

"I'll find some people to take care of that," he said, smiling. "I also talked to Artie about dangling from the balustrades of the atrium. I think she gave poor Master Alastair quite a scare yesterday."

"She's insane," Mia said, wondering how someone could be that fearless of heights when magic wasn't involved.

"In a good way."

"Very true," Mia smiled, knowing they would never had been able to rebuild the city without the talents of Artemus. "What was she doing up there anyway?"

"Fixing part of the ventilation system, I think."

"Remember when she landed on the balcony of my bedroom and woke us up?" Mia said, shaking her head. "You thought we were under attack, but no, it was just our most talented engineer coming down off the roof and missing her intended mark."

His smile faded a bit and he just glanced down at the carpet.

Mia reached over and touched his hand. "See, that's what I'm talking about! People here respect you and you can bring them together. You can handle all of those personalities and make them work towards all the dreams we once had."

Nash gave a wary glance at her touch and the exchange instantly halted. She didn't withdraw her hand, hoping he'd warm to her touch just as he'd warmed to the conversation. Unfortunately, it was too much to wish for.

Drawing away from her, he stood up and took a few steps away. When he turned around to face her, he had transformed back into the statute she despised. "I'll accept your offer Majesty as I promised you once that I would give you everything I had—including my life—even if that meant the destruction of my soul. I will always keep these promises, even if things between us are difficult."

"They don't have to be difficult," she sighed as she rose to her feet. "And I don't want a martyr. I just want my friend back."

His response couldn't have been colder—even if she'd have cast an ice spell on him. "Is there anything else you require of me at this time, Majesty?"

"Move your things to the Premier's suite in the west wing," she said, rubbing her forehead in anguish. "I can send some of my staff to help you."

"I have few belongings. I don't need their assistance."

Mia shook her head sadly. Most of his things were still in her room. He'd never come to get them and she didn't have the heart to send them back. Holding onto them made her believe that somehow this rift that cut between them could be filled. Today would not be that day, but that didn't let her give up the hope that it would happen someday. "Very well. Plan to meet with the faculty this week. I need their cooperation to make the festival what it needs to be."

"Consider it done."

She did her best to hold a business-like tone even though just watching this transformation he had mastered broke her heart. "I had the Premier's regalia redesigned. I didn't want people associating it with Ghaleon. And, well, the headdress just doesn't seem like you, either. I'll bring it to you once the seamstresses are finished with it."

Backing towards the door he said, "Thank you, Majesty."

Still hoping for more of a reaction from him, she said, "The inauguration will be the last day of the Festival. Gregory and Robin will run a rehearsal for the entire faculty the day before. Please make sure you are free."

Nearly in the hall, he gave a bow. "As you wish, Majesty."

"Nash," she called to him, but he had already shut the door.

In the hallway, he touched the hand she had held for that tiny instant to his cheek and sighed as he gave glance wrought with anguish back at the closed door of her office.


	4. Chapter Three

_**Rise from Ashes**_  
**Chapter Three**

* * *

Gregory appeared in Nash's room, using the door for a change, and smiling at his young friend. "Just about done packing?" he asked, adjusting the large, leather messenger's bag he was carrying across his shoulder.

"That was the last of it," Nash replied, stacking the final box with the others. There weren't too many, but enough that would necessitate at least twenty trips from the fourth floor to the fifth.

"I brought some wine," Gregory said, tapping the bag. "But since friends help you celebrate and real friends help you move, let's see what I can do about that pile you have there, my boy." With a grin, the Illusionist whispered a few words, pressed his palms together, and in an instant, all of the boxes disappeared.

"Thanks," Nash said with a smirk. "You didn't send them to a fountain, did you?"

Gregory feigned insult. "Would I do something like that?"

"I seem to recall a day when you decided to hold class outside and teleported the lot of us into the woods on the ground—to a clearing no one was familiar with."

"I thought it was a good day for a hike," the Illusionist teased. "Anyway, don't worry, they're waiting for you upstairs. Come on, I'll help you unpack. There's something we need to talk about anyway."

"What about?" he asked curiously.

"Ah, you know how I like to be full of surprises," Gregory answered with a wink, before leading the way out the door.

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"Hah! We've known each other too long," the ageless mage said, clasping the young man on the back as they walked towards the stairs.

Too long was an exaggeration, of course, but it was hard for Gregory to imagine that only twelve years ago he'd been in the right place at the right time to do the right thing. While many in the Guild could claim Nash as their friend, only Gregory could say he'd known him before he arrived in Vane, and that had been their little secret all these years.

Twelve years ago, in Reza, the home of the Thieves' Guild, was where the ageless mage had his first run-in with a filthy, homeless, little boy. What the Illusionist had been doing in that city at that time, he didn't quite remember, but he was sure he was just passing through on yet another mission for the Magic Guild.

He had been more than careful in Reza, keeping his purse close at all times, and only opening it to make a payment for food or supplies. One of those times, as he was purchasing some medicinal items to assist him on his journey back to Vane, he felt a hand—apparently not a trained one—reach into his robe, looking for the silver he was now holding in his palm.

He grabbed at the wrist of the thief and turned around with his free hand raised in the opening gesture to cast a stun spell. He froze for an instant in surprise as his eyes fell to face a starved, dirty child, dressed in clothes that looked more like rags, and hair that was so grimy and matted that any attempt to give a color to it was impossible.

"Let go of me or I'll hurt you!" The child's voice was shrill and his accent thick, but sound of fear mixed well with the warning underlying it.

"You were trying to steal from me, boy. You should be afraid of what I will do to you!" Gregory replied, not releasing his grip but his tone more teasing than threatening.

"Let go! I'll kill you! I can make storms!"

The boy growled audibly at him and began to concentrate, focusing his attention and his power onto him. Then, just as the air began to fill with static and the stench of ozone, his target seemed to fade, growing thinner as if dissolving into the air. The boy looked about in confusion for a moment when, suddenly a hand was placed on his shoulder from behind.

Gregory glanced up into the suddenly turbulent and disorganized sky as thunder clasped in the distance. Keeping his hand on the child's bony shoulder, he smiled. "That's quite a bit of Primal Magic you've got there, my young friend. With a little training, you might even be a match for me. But, not today, I think."

On realizing Gregory's new position, the child squinted at him again in concentration, but before the storm could begin to break overhead, the old man vanished for a second time, as though he had never existed. The boy looked around in bewilderment. Again Gregory appeared before him, a few inches from his face and put a gentle hand on his arm so the child knew he was real and not a hallucination from a deprived stomach. "But, as I said, not today."

The sky cleared again, and the child's voice came out frightened and defeated. "Are you going to hurt me?"

"No," Gregory said gently before looking around at the others who had been watching them. He gave a sweeping glare to the crowd and suddenly they found other, more important things in which to find an interest. "Where are your parents?"

The ragged child looked back at him, the fear giving way to mistrust and his last shred of pride. "They're gone, and I don't need any help. I've made it here all by myself. All the way from the Prairie."

"Gone as in you are abandoned?"

"Gone as in dead," the child answered in the tribal language.

The Illusionist was fluent in many tongues and answered him in it. "My condolences. It is impressive that you made it all the way here, but where are you heading?"

The boy seemed quite surprised at the old man's use of his language. "You speak Tribal?"

"Languages are easy to master, if given enough time." Gregory said gently. "Are you going to answer my question?"

The boy sighed and pulled a piece of paper from his shirt, showing a crudely drawn map. "Vane."

Gregory struggled to restrain a small laugh as he looked from the rudimentary map to the solemn dark eyes of the child. He knew the boy was serious, and if he was truly alone, Vane might be the only answer for him. With that much power, it might be the best choice for the child's sake—and everyone else's. He paused a moment, his expression growing more solemn. "Why are you going to Vane?"

"My mother gave me the map before she died. She said people there could teach me things." He frowned and his dark eyes were sad as he looked up at Gregory. "I don't have anywhere else to go anyway."

"Nowhere?"

The boy shook his head. "The men on the horses killed or took everyone else."

"I see," the Illusionist said as he rubbed his forehead in thought. Slavery was unfortunately still popular in and around the Prairie and less noble tribes would conquer others in order to sell them. It disgusted him, and just made him more determined to do something for this child. "I will say it's apparent you have a lot to learn. If you are going to call a storm to defend yourself, perhaps you should make sure you have a target—one that isn't standing close to you—or you'll wind up getting struck by lightning yourself!"

Speaking once again in the common language, the boy blushed under the filth on his face and admitted, "Yeah, I kinda learned that the hard way..."

A smile crossed the mage's face. "So you are going to Vane. Do you know anything of Vanetian history or traditions?"

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Your appearance, for starters. I don't think you would be well accepted in the floating city, at least not looking and acting the way you do."

"Why not?"

"That is the way of Vane," Gregory said tiredly. "You speak the common language. Can you read it as well?"

The boy shook his head. "My parents made me learn it so I could trade horses with people in Tamur, but we didn't have books or anything like that."

Gregory nodded, knowing that many of the tribesmen were illiterate. "When did you last eat? I can tell it's been even longer since you last bathed."

The child looked back to him. "I don't need to—I mean I'm not hungry. I don't need your help." Then the sound of a rumble came again, but this time not from distant thunder. Rubbing his empty stomach the ragged boy nodded slowly. "Okay, well, maybe I am a little hungry."

Laughing, Gregory offered the child his hand and began pulling him gently. "Let's make use of that silver you were trying to 'borrow' from me then. The world always looks better on a full stomach."

"Why are you helping me?"

Gregory knew the boy still did not fully trust him, but was driven by a hunger for both food and what he might know of his destination "You intrigue me and unlike some of my colleagues in Vane, I've spent a good amount of time in your part of the world. I know of your people and their traditions."

The child gave a slight nod and reluctantly allowed Gregory to guide him along to the local tavern. "You know a lot about Vane. Could you tell me how to get there?"

"I suppose I could," Gregory said with a grin.

"Do you live there?"

"You could say that, though there are times I travel extensively," he said, gesturing to the golden seal on his cloak. "I've earned my Master's Badge and Robes."

"Then you're going to take me there," the boy said as they entered the tavern. "I mean, I want you to take me there. Please."

"It might be the best option for everyone," Gregory replied, sliding into the booth the barmaid had pointed towards. "But there are some things we must take care of first. I will need to give you a history, one that would be accepted in Vane. I'm afraid being a member of the Prairie Tribes—no matter how honorable they are—would not gain you much favor in Vane. Then, I'll teach you how to speak as your accent gives away your first language and if you want to—"

"Why can't I just go being me?" the child asked, pulling at the long braids he wore in his hair.

"Vane will not accept you as you are, my friend. I don't particularly agree with their ways, but they are entitled to have them, just as Tribesmen have their own. Consider this: would your family look well upon someone who removes his colors from his hair? Or how would they feel if their son ran away from a fight he knew he couldn't win instead of standing his ground even in the face of certain death? What if you never lived up to the name your parents gave you? As I understand it, those are considered cardinal sins to your people but mean nothing in Vane."

The boy stared at the rough table, his melancholy eyes tracing the grain of the wood.

"I know your ways, just as I know Vane's. I also know that sometimes we must change our outward appearances in order to gain acceptance," Gregory said, patting the child's dirty hand. "I don't like it, and it may not feel right, but as long as we know who we really are, nothing has truly changed."

The child gave a slight nod.

"You'll need to also learn to dress like a gentleman and we'll have to cut and wash that hair as men in Vane do not wear it long. The ribbons will have to come out, too."

The boy's filthy fingers closed about remains of the ragged ribbons. "But they're part of me. They're my tribe's colors and all that I have left of my family, " he said, looking up into the compassionate eyes of his new friend.

"I know, but they're part of the old you, the one you were before you went to Vane. If you like, I'll hold them for you."

Wordlessly, the child slowly pulled them from his hair, dirt and grime coming with them. The colors of the ribbons had been sun bleached, and the ends frayed, but Gregory could still recognize they had once been red and blue. The boy stared down at them in his open palm as the mage gently took his last bit of tribal pride and placed it with reverence in his pouch.

After a moment, Gregory reached across the table and touched the child's shoulder. "There's more, too. I'm willing to teach you all of this because I can't help but think some kind of fate caused us to meet. But you must agree to follow my instructions."

"I really don't have any other choice."

"Yes, you do, son," Gregory said. "You could remain here and be a thief. You could return to the Prairie and find another tribe. But I know these are things you don't want to do. I can tell you want to follow your map."

The child nodded. "I'll do as you tell me, then."

"Good, because besides those other things I mentioned, you'll also need to learn how to read, and most importantly, how to act Vanetian."

"Act Vanetian?"

Gregory grinned a little as he said, "Act like a snob."

Twelve years, a chance meeting, and now by another turn of fate, the Master of Illusion Magic was standing with that very same boy as they headed towards the door to the Premier's Suite. Located at the end of the west wing and on the fifth floor, it consumed most of the space there. The faculty members who were privileged enough to have their quarters nearby were those of the highest rank, though quite a few of the rooms were still vacant.

The doors were decorated with the Ausa seal and two guards had already taken up position on either side. As Gregory and Nash approached, the sentries stood at attention.

A moment later, a turn of a key, and they stood in the foyer of the enormous living space. To the right was a parlor for receiving guests and a private dining room. To the left, a sitting room, a study, and spacious bedroom.

"I saw the plans when we started rebuilding but I never imagined it was this large," Nash said, leading Gregory into the bedroom where the stack of boxes awaited.

"It's impressive," the Illusionist said. "Nearly a copy of Mia's."

Nash frowned.

"Well, you've got everything you need right here, well, everything except your office. It's never good to live and work in the same place." Gregory said, not sure his young friend was listening.

Indeed, he wasn't. Nash opened one of the large glass doors that led out onto the balcony and smiled at the breeze. This space was his as well; it stretched from one end of the suite to the other. A pool, hanging gardens, and furniture specifically built to be outdoors. "Well, I guess it's official now," Nash said, looking down at his reflection in the pool and brushing a few loose strands of his hair back into place.

"This is just one of a dozen formalities. I'd say it was official when Mia made the announcement to the faculty at the meeting this morning." Gregory said, glancing at up at an arbor which was home to climbing roses. "I expected nothing less than the standing ovation you received."

"Master Robin and Master Tamora did not look too happy."

"Robin's just a pain in the ass and we both know that Tamora was probably hoping Orinth would've been given the honor." Gregory answered, picking a bloom and putting into his bag.

Nash scowled at the mention of Tamora's son, but he seemed more interested in why Gregory was cutting a flower in his garden. "A rose?"

"For a friend."

"A friend? At your age?"

Gregory smirked. "I only get better with age, son."

"And who is lucky lady?"

"A gentleman never tells," Gregory winked. "Besides, secrets keep me honest."

Nash just laughed.

The ageless mage smiled and walked back into his friend's bedroom. "Anyway, everyone else knows that Mia's right. You're the one who deserves this honor so don't let those two bother you. Both of them have their own agendas."

Closing the door behind them, Nash followed in silence.

Gregory led the way into the study, towards two large, upholstered chairs and the small table in between them. Setting down his bag, he started unpacking it. "But as I said, there are some formalities to this appointment and there's one we need to take care of now. So, come, have a seat."

Nash did as the old man asked and claimed the empty chair.

From the bag, Gregory took a small clear bottle of blue wine and two crystal glasses. He carefully worked at the cork stopper and let the wine's sweet aroma fill the room. Slowly, he poured a measure into each of the glasses and held one out to Nash. "Summer-Berry wine. It's made only once every ten years. I've been saving it for something special. I think it's time."

The younger mage smelled it cautiously but didn't drink it just yet.

Gregory rubbed his finger around the mouth of his glass. "I assume you know what being the Premier of Vane means, right?"

Nash sounded a bit annoyed at the simple question. "Of course. It means that I run the Guild and represent us to other states."

Gregory frowned slightly and then took a sip of his wine. "I meant beyond that."

Nash set his drink on the table before muttering, "It means that she and I will have to start speaking with each other again if we're to keep things running smoothly. Personal feelings no longer matter."

Gregory's raised a brow. "Mia didn't explain all the implications of your acceptance?

"Implications?"

"Traditions—old ones that we aren't supposed to be using any more. I had hoped she would have told you about them, even if they are now of the past."

Nash looked at Gregory with sheer perplexity as he reached for his glass. "What are you talking about?"

The Illusionist waved his hand. "Never mind. It's not my place to discuss such things and I imagine you'll find out soon enough. Tradition or not, some things just seem to be unavoidable."

Taking a sip of the wine, Nash frowned. "What tradition?"

Gregory sighed as he placed his glass on the table, the sapphire wine suddenly swirling inside as if pulled by some unseen force. "Forget that. There are more important things to worry about before we celebrate your accomplishments." The Illusionist pinched his nose as he hesitated for a moment before he asked somberly, "Tell me, honestly, do you want to be Premier?"

It was clearly the last question Nash expected to hear. "Of course. Why wouldn't I? It's one of the highest honors that exist in the world."

The Illusionist took another drink. "Yes, yes it is. But why do you want it? I had assumed that you learned your lesson about power and it's price, the last time-when you betrayed your friends to follow Ghaleon."

Nash closed his eyes as if doing so would chase away the dreadful memory. After a moment, he looked up at Gregory, and his voice was distant and hollow. "I did, and that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I was wrong. I thought it would save Mia, and my own rotten hide in the process. I betrayed her and everyone, yet they trusted me again and…." He shook his head and glanced down to the floor. "I know I never be with her again, ever. She and I both know that, even if we don't want to admit it."

"I think you're wrong there," Gregory interrupted, smoothing his salt-and-pepper hair back. "I know the whole story and I've seen it from both sides. But I can't force either of you to make amends with the other."

"It's not just that and you know it," Nash countered, taking another sip as he considered his words. "Regardless, I want—I _need_—to be there to support and help her in anyway I can. She's terrified of all of this, Gregory! She puts on a good front, but I can tell that sometimes she's still that scared little girl I fell in love with! She seems to think she has to prove to everyone that she can do this, and that she has to do it alone. Can't anyone else see that? It's not fair. She shouldn't have to bear the burden of an entire city by herself!"

Gregory nodded. "Though most of that is self-inflicted."

"Of course it is! She thinks that she somehow failed her mother, Vane, even the world by letting the city fall in the attack. She wants nothing more than to see us fly again, and while I doubt that will ever happen, I want to support her dreams. I want to manage the faculty so she doesn't have to worry about them. Even if it's just one less thing for her to deal with, so be it."

"You still love her," Gregory said gently as he smiled over the lip of his glass.

"Of course I do," Nash sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'll love her until the day I die. That's the tragedy of all this."

"No," Gregory said pointedly. "The _real_ tragedy is that you have the power to fix it and you choose not to."

Nash glared at the Illusionist before taking a long drink. "She deserves better than a complete and total fraud and you know it, Gregory."

"I'm going to give you some unsolicited advice, my boy," Gregory said, putting a hand on his young friend's shoulder. "You know I rarely do this, but since you're the closest thing I've ever had to a son, I'm going to stick my nose where I know it's not wanted."

Nash finished his glass, set it down, and gave a slight nod.

"What you used to be, and what you are today cannot be two mutually exclusive events. Your past, my boy, is part of your present, and it is part of your future. Let's face facts. Yes, you lived in a tent. Yes, you killed your own food. Yes, you rode across the Prairie with a family that loved you. Then, suddenly, and by no fault of your own, you were forced to give up that life in order gain entrance into the Magic Guild. You studied hard, and with your extraordinary natural talent, you succeeded beyond the expectations of most of the faculty. You amazed them with your ability and your gift—far beyond what even the oldest families of Vane could have claimed." A grin crept across his face as he filled both of their glasses again. "Not that many of them would be willing to admit to that."

Nash shook his head in dramatic torment as his life was repeated to him. Taking a long drink of his wine, he waited for Gregory to continue.

"While that past life had to put on hold for you to survive and accomplish all of this—not to mention your feats of the past few years! It is now time you accepted, if not embraced, that life again. You can't keep hiding from it forever. Time may run slowly, but he is steady, and he will catch up with you."

"I can avoid it. I've been avoiding it for twelve years. What's a dozen more? I don't want her to be disgusted that she ever—"

Gregory interrupted the spew of self-pity, his velvet voice not even coming close to finding an edge. "Pay attention, Nash! Don't you think that Mia deserves to know the truth? You shared your dreams, your life, and your bed with her, yet you refuse to share your past?"

Nash's cheeks flushed as Gregory summed up his relationship in a single sentence. "She deserves the truth, yes. But she also deserves better."

"That's not true, and it's not for you to decide." The ageless mage took his former student's hand in his own and shook it gently. "Take it from someone who has lived lifetimes of regret over a woman he should have married."

Nash tried to blink away his disbelief, "What?"

"It was years before your time, but like you, I was in love with a Guildmaster. Like you, I would have done anything for her. She could have snapped her fingers and told me to jump off the roof of the Library—and I would have, without question! Everyone teased me for my childish devotion to a woman who was almost young enough to be my daughter. She was beautiful, intelligent and incredibly powerful—just like all Ausas before and after her. She returned my affections, and asked me to be Premier of the Guild—and then she asked me to be her husband—but I turned her down on both."

Stunned at this revelation, Nash asked bitterly, "Why? It's not like you were some homeless tribal brat."

Gregory shook his head, frowning at his friend. "I never thought I'd hear you talking like Robin or Tamora or that stuck up son of hers. Don't you remember the Prairie Tribes have a rich and noble tradition? These people—your people—are incredible and righteous warriors, and have produced not just one, but two, Dragonmasters."

"Yes, but to Vane it makes little difference," Nash answered, freeing his hand from the Illusionist's grasp and reaching for his glass. "You gave me a new accent, a new history, and even a new name! _You_ told me I had to pretend to be someone else, Gregory."

"I did, but that was before Mia decided to open the Guild up to anyone. Times have changed and you are the part of the reason for that. I had hoped I'd live to the see the day when the egos of Vane were brought down to the earth."

"Too bad we had to bring the city down, too," Nash muttered, taking a sip of the wine.

"That wasn't anyone's fault but Ghaleon's," Gregory sighed, raising his own drink to his lips. "And, to answer your question about why I turned _my_ Guildmaster down—there were plenty of excuses I fooled myself with, some valid, most not. The biggest three were that I was twelve years her senior, she was one of my students, and we were from different worlds." He muttered over his glass, "Very different worlds."

Nash raised an eyebrow. "Different worlds? Your family is one of the oldest and most respected in Vane."

"As I said, not all were valid," Gregory answered quickly before continuing. "But really, what did it come down to? When she needed me, I ran away. Why? Because in my head I firmly believed that she could do better than just some third-rate illusionist. I felt there were far more experienced people there to be Premier, but she thought I would be good at it for some reason. I just didn't think I could live up the responsibility—and I was afraid of letting her down."

Gregory paused, and rubbed his forehead, the memories still agonizing even though more than forty years had passed. "As far as being her husband, while I wanted to, I just couldn't. There was a long part of my life where I forced myself not to get close to people. My Guildmaster tried to teach me that this was the wrong way to feel, and I couldn't, or _wouldn't_ heed her words." Gregory closed his eyes and took a long breath before admitting one of his secrets to his closest friend. "I listened to the people who said I was too old for her and that sleeping with one of my students was considered inappropriate, despite the fact that we both loved each other. So, I left Vane—and her."

Nash looked at his mentor with a face full of astonishment. "Gregory, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"It's not exactly the kind of tale you tell," Gregory said as he glanced down at the carpet. "Ruined fairy tales hardly make for good bedtime stories." He took a breath and then added through grit teeth. "I still regret that I listened to the Orinths, the Tamoras, and the Robins of the time. They all reinforced my fears by telling me that I was too mature for such a little girl." With a snort of disgust he shook his head and spat, "Even my own mother was against it!" The old man frowned darkly but swiftly dismissed his thoughts with a shake of his head. There was so much more to that story, but nothing he wanted to impart. Some mysteries and broken hearts were best left buried, even among the closest of friends.

"Gregory, this is so much different!"

The Illusionist took another swallow of wine and shook his head. "No, it's not, my boy! What are you afraid of? Getting hurt? Hurting her? Those were my fears. You're faced with the same dilemma and you're hesitating for far less cause. Mia loves you. Anyone who has seen the two of you together can say that—even now, after your little falling out. Heed my words, son. If you're lucky, life gives you one shot at true love. You can either live a lifetime of lies and regret as I did, or you can walk down to her suite, apologize, tell her everything, and move on."

"You make it sound so easy," Nash sighed.

"It's not easy, and that's a fact of life, my boy," Gregory said with a chuckle. "With the Guild opening its doors, it's only a matter of time before someone recognizes you. It will sound better coming from you than from someone else, although I guarantee you that it will make little difference to her."

"And what about others in the Guild? Do you think Master Robin will accept it?"

"Forget about Master Robin. Forget about all of those stuck-up idiots. I've already dealt with them, but when Mia takes you for who you really are, I promise that the rest of Vane will, too."

"Dealt with them?"

"It's what we need to discuss," Gregory said, taking a scroll and some sealing wax from his bag. "Get a pen and a candle."

"Gregory, what are you up to?" Nash asked, starting to get up.

"If you keep asking questions," the ageless mage answered with a smirk as he reached for his drink. "You'll never find out."

It took Nash a good few minutes to dig through boxes and locate the items Gregory had requested. When he'd found them, he brought them to the study and set them on the coffee table in front of the Illusionist.

"I hope the pen has ink," Gregory said, taking another drink.

Shaking his head, Nash headed back into his bedroom to sift through more boxes. Gregory took advantage of his absence to pull a small gift box from his bag and placed it next to the scroll on the table.

When Nash finally returned with an inkwell, Gregory smiled at him with a gleam in his eyes. "Good. Now we can finally talk business."

"Business?" Nash asked cautiously as he took his seat and reached for his glass.

Gregory grinned. "Well, not really. It's more personal than that. Anyway, in order to have the title Premier confirmed upon you, the Council is going to demand two things. One is that you have incredibly powerful magic. I know that isn't going to be a problem since had I not brought you here, our weather patterns might have been a bit more predictable."

"And the other?" Nash asked, taking a long drink as his tone told of how much he dreaded the answer.

"Your family position here in Vane—your name and status."

Nash's expression melted into despair despite the long conversation the two of them had just engaged in. "Then I may as well go resign now."

The old man shook his head. "No, you will not give up. I'm not letting you do that. I told you I had taken care of the problem. Some things are just right, decided by fates we cannot control."

Nash stared at his friend completely bewildered. Gregory could work some high-powered magic, this was true, but no one could change another's destiny. That alone was reserved for Althena, and she didn't exist anymore—at least not as the deity she had once been.

Gregory picked up the scroll from the table, searching for his words. He could count the number of times he'd felt this inarticulate in his life on one hand. After a long moment and few sips of wine, he stood up. Giving a hopeful smile, he handed the paper to his friend. "Please, just…read. I never really was very good at doing things like this."

Nash looked down in shocked surprise as he carefully unrolled the document. It took only an instant to recognize Mia's elaborate mark next to the ornate seal of the Ausa family, and the small, neat, signature of his first friend. The document itself was brief, only a handful of lines. Yet within it he could see his life, and future.

_Let it be known to all within the walls of Vane and beyond that on the third of May, in the fifth year of the reign of Mia Ausa, the following decree has been made and posted, with all parties involved in agreement: _

_Master Gregory Telka, Distinguished Master Mage, and Member of the Guildmaster's Council, has on this day adopted into his family, and named his heir apparent the person known as Nash of Vane. All traditions, rights, duties, and titles of the House of Telka are hereto forth conferred upon the individual now known as Nash Telka. _

_Nash Telka, who was born on April the eighteenth in the second year of the reign of Lemia Ausa to parents unnamed, and by my command and wish named Premier of Vane, shall be recognized by all in accordance with Master Gregory Telka's wishes. _

_Signed and sealed on this date so shall it be now and until the end of all time. _

_Mia Ausa_

Nash stared in awe for a moment as the weight of the words on the page hit him in the face. He looked up at Gregory, his voice becoming tight as his eyes turned glassy. "I don't deserve this, Gregory. I betrayed you when I became Ghaleon's apprentice…I…I can't…accept this. I can't…"

The Illusionist waved his hand as he fought the choking feeling in his throat and sank back into his seat. "We all make mistakes, and you made up for that when you helped destroy him at the end. Besides, your acts since then have done even more to show me that you are worthy of any honor I, or Vane, can give you."

Nash was still shaking his head in disbelief when Gregory gave him a sincere smile. "You know I have no children of my own. I need an heir, you need a family, and I've been calling you 'son' as long as I've known you anyway. Ageless I may seem, but no one is immortal. I know this is long overdue, but I also know it's right." He picked up the pen and held it to the young man. "Now stop stammering and sign the damn thing."

With a grateful smile, Nash accepted the feather and, pressing its sharpened point into the ink and then to the document, he carefully signed his name, his elaborate script dwarfing Gregory's simple mark.

The Illusionist lit the wick of the squat candle with a snap of his fingers and began to melt the tip of the blue sealing wax, rolling it constantly in his fingers to prevent it from dripping. When the end had softened to his satisfaction, he rubbed it next to his signature, making a large blot. "It's been ages since this was used," he said, giving a glance to Nash. Then, with a slight grimace, the old man twisted the black gem on the ring he wore on his right hand, lifting it slightly until the stone came free. Carved into the setting behind the gem was his seal, and, turning it slightly in his hand he pressed it into the soft wax. After a moment, he raised his fist and glanced down, nodding in approval at the imprint it had made. "And thus is it done."

Nash smiled and saw the seal was a stylized capital T with a dragon climbing the shaft, its head resting on the crossbar. "I never knew what your seal looked like."

"Our seal," the Illusionist corrected him. "I told you I hadn't used it in awhile." He stood up and placed the small gift box in Nash's hand. "Open this."

Nash pulled the ribbon from the box and looked down at the gift. It was an exact copy of the gold ring Gregory wore, the seal hidden from view by the same black stone. He carefully placed it on the middle finger of his right hand as he rose to his feet. "I don't even know what to say, Gregory."

"Then don't say anything," Gregory answered, his throat constricting with emotion as he pulled his young friend into an embrace. "You are now my son by law, though you always really have been, regardless of the paperwork."

* * *

A pair of steely silver eyes gazed out the dirty window and into the near distance. They seemed to calculate and examine every inch of the immaculate white walls surrounding the fabled city of Vane. Here and there, rooftops peeked out over the doubled barrier, and a few taller buildings with glassed in windows or balconies could be seen. But it was the two structures at the northern most point of the city that caught his eye and piqued his curiosity. Twin towers, equal in height and both built of what appeared to be an impossible combination of silver, crystal, and pearl reflected the rays of both the sun and the Blue Star in such manner that their color shifted from moment to moment. First they appeared a soft pearl, then a kaleidoscope of pastels, and then morphed into an eye piercing cobalt before the cycle began again. Neither of the towers had windows—just two wondrously simple yet peculiar obelisks that dwarfed everything else in sight.

His concentration was broken as the blithering idiot of a barkeep limped over to his table and wiped it off. "What can I get for ya, buddy?"

"The strongest whiskey you have in a tall glass and whatever you're offering for food today. Feed my men, the woman, and the boy, too. Be sure one of your rooms upstairs is available."

The barkeep limped behind the bar, poured the drink, and brought it to his customer. "Aye, I've got one, sir."

"Good," Gravitt said, taking a sip of the liquor and wanting to end the conversation quickly. He kept his voice level as he glanced away. "I'm expecting some company so keep the stove hot."

The red-haired man nodded and disappeared behind the bar.

Looking around the quaint tavern, Gravitt took quick stock of the location and doings of his companions. His mercenaries were already into their second mugs of ale, a few of the rowdier fellows bursting out in a ribald song in between swigs. And, in the far corner, Sabre and Brinson were entertaining her son with some ridiculous tribal story.

He despised the two of them and their pathetic glances at each other even more. If he hadn't been expecting important company, he would've pinned her against the wall and kissed her hungrily in front of Brinson, just to enjoy the reaction.

The bartender returned to his table, bringing some bread and dragging his bad leg behind him. "So where are you folks headed? Dunart isn't exactly a tourist town. We're a stop on the road to somewhere else."

Gravitt ran a hand through his dark brown hair as he quickly decided to give accurate information in the effort to garner some from the bartender. "To Vane for the Reopening Festival. It starts in two days."

"That's faster than I figured, though I'm glad they're finally getting the place back together." He shook his head, glancing out to the shining white walls in the distance for a moment. "Don't think I'll go back, though."

"You used to live there?"

"Yessir. I used to attend the Guild, before the Fall that is—that's when I got my limp. I never thought it would get rebuilt, so I moved here. Opened this tavern and I've been happy ever since." He gave a wink. "To tell the truth, I wasn't all that happy there—going to class all the time was a real pain in the ass."

Gravitt responded with a gruff laugh. "Good for you."

"I don't remember you from my days in Vane. Are you planning to enroll in classes there or something?"

"No," Gravitt smirked. "I'm one of Mia Ausa's most generous benefactors. Received a personal invitation to this party of hers."

The barkeep gave a bow to him. "Then I honor you with as much whiskey as you'd like on the house."

"Thanks."

"No, thank you, sir," the red-haired man said, bringing the bottle to Gravitt's table. "Anyone who helps Majesty Mia is a friend of mine."

"You know her personally?"

"Aye," the barkeep answered, a smile forming on his lips. "We were in the same class."

Gravitt grinned, finishing his drink. "I see. Her mother relinquished the throne to her, didn't she?"

The barkeep nodded. "Yes, very rare for that to happen in Vane. It's probably the only time in recorded history. Majesty Mia's been the Guildmaster since the Fall, even though her mother lived another four, almost five, years. Majesty Lemia never recovered from what Ghaleon did to her, and so she abdicated to her daughter shortly after Dragonmaster Alex defeated him."

"Is her magic as strong as her mother's used to be?" Gravitt asked, gesturing to his empty glass.

"I believe so, since she's probably the most powerful mage living in our world—not to mention the most beautiful." Pouring with one hand, he pointed at a portrait hanging behind the large man with the other. "That's her. At the Guild we used to say that any boy who saw her would fall instantly in love with her. Can't say that's false, and I don't figure it's changed any."

Gravitt turned around and stared at the gorgeous woman in the painting. The black curls she wore against her near ghost-white skin provided a striking contrast, drawing out her peaceful dark violet eyes and serene smile. Then he smirked at the barkeep, "From personal experience, I assume?"

The roughly dressed keeper blushed slightly, an expression clearly out of place on his weathered face. "Aye, although I never stood a chance with her. The man in the other portrait, he's who she lived and died for—well up until about two months ago, if rumors prove to be true around here."

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at the picture of a young man with auburn hair. He was attractive, Gravitt guessed, though his grin was a bit cocky. "I see. Who is he?"

"Our other local Hero, Nash of Vane," the man said bitterly. "Not much of a Hero if you ask me. Traded sides a few times—nearly got the rest of them killed."

"Yet you hang his portrait in your tavern."

"Aye, because he did eventually straighten up and fight with the Dragonmaster and Majesty Mia. Some say she's the only reason he did. I don't know if there's truth to that, though. All I remember about him from school is that he was so stuck up he couldn't sit down! She seemed to be the only one who could temper him."

"Seems like an odd match," Gravitt said, finishing off his drink.

"It most certainly was, that's for sure," the bartender answered, filling the glass with a smile. "Anyway, he earned back some of the respect he lost by being responsible for most of the rebuilding of Vane. He'd ride back and forth from Meribia every week or so to oversee the progress. Lived in tents with the workers those first few months when nothing in the city was habitable, too. I still have trouble imagining him doing that. He'd fuss at school if his hair was the slightest bit out of place. And y'know, I always thought it funny that he could stay on a horse. That wasn't a skill taught at the Guild. Anyway, he stopped in here a lot. Sometimes he'd stay over. Didn't drink much, though."

"So you say they split up? What happened between them?"

"I can't be sure, there have been too many rumors. Whatever it was, it was ugly, but they kept the reasons to themselves. I don't think anybody really knows the truth, to be honest."

"I see. And he still lives there?"

The red-haired man walked back towards the kitchen, speaking as he did so. "Aye. In fact, the latest rumor is that she's asked him to be Premier of the Guild."

Gravitt raised an eyebrow. "Really? Is that information reliable?"

The barkeep gave a nod as he reappeared from the kitchen carrying a plate of food. "I heard it from a friend—who's now one of the members of the faculty—just last week."

"Interesting," Gravitt said, looking down at the delicious smelling food. He'd only been able to use that sense in the past year, thanks to the holder of his contract. He hoped that person would be coming soon to meet him in this dive. Perhaps he'd be able to convince his employer to grant him taste now rather than later. Normally, he would not sell his services to anyone as contracts required more trouble than he'd ever found them to be worth. But then, two years ago, someone had made an offer Gravitt found difficult to refuse—his cooperation in exchange for the removal of his family's curse.

The mercenary ate in silence, and just as he was putting the last bit of food into his mouth, a cloaked man entered the tavern and took the seat across from him. Gravitt wrinkled his nose at the smell of the fellow and frowned. He knew this man well and despised the odd odor of metal and grease that followed him. "Do you want something to eat?"

The man pushed his glasses up his beaked nose with a frown. "No. The faster we take care of this business, the faster I can return home."

"Home is The Ruins, I take it?" Gravitt asked, turning his head to catch a breath of fresh air.

He nodded, tugging at his black mustache as he smirked. "They moved it as far as they could into the forest—probably so they wouldn't be reminded of their own failure. It's a bit, crude, but it serves my needs."

"Where is our mutual friend?"

"Had some other business to deal with, so he sent you a letter." With that, the greasy, bearded man pulled an envelope from his pocket and slid it to Gravitt.

Eyeing the note suspiciously, he opened it and snorted as he read the very specific, detailed, and _demanding_ instructions. If this person hadn't been providing such an attractive barter, he wouldn't hesitate to hunt him down just to put him back in his place. Looking back at the other, he asked, "You brought the merchandise?"

"Of course, I did," the man said, hoisting a large pack onto the table. "Not going to waste a trip all the way out here."

Gravitt raised a brow as the man pulled three long, slender canisters about a foot long each and set them on the table.

"For demonstration purposes only."

"These look completely harmless," Gravitt said as he reached for one of the canisters. The metal had a bizarre bluish tint, the item was oddly heavy for its size, and there were runes engraved on the sides. Though he couldn't read what they said, the mercenary ran his finger over them in curiosity.

"That's the point."

Noticing a pattern of tiny holes on the bottom of the cylinder, Gravitt tried to look through one of them. "Are they dangerous?"

"Not as they are," the man answered, a smirk playing upon his lips. "Once activated, I advise that you don't try to touch them, though."

Gravitt gave the canister a shake and realized that the weight was coming from something within. "How do I activate them?"

"Find a magician—that shouldn't be a problem in Vane—to cast a spell on them."

"Any spell?" Gravitt asked, unscrewing the top of the container to see that it was filled with green stones.

The bearded man nodded again. "For these? Yes. Use them on a banquet table or a tree."

"Those magicians could levitate such things on their own," Gravitt said, glaring at his cohort. "That will hardly impress them."

The hook-nosed man placed a small notebook on the table. "Levitate, yes. Keep aloft for any amount of time, no. I've written the details down for you so you can work on how you will explain the questions that will be raised. Do me a favor and practice how you'll present them. I don't want the years I spent making these things wasted."

Gravitt narrowed his eyes at the man's insolence, but it went unnoticed.

"Now, for their larger cousins, you'll need some powerful magic, but again, that shouldn't be a problem, especially if you can get the Guildmaster and her Council on your side."

"How big are the real ones?"

"Fifteen feet tall and six feet in diameter. They're too big to move without carts and it would only raise suspicion if you walked into the city with them right now."

"I'll send my men with you, then."

"Good, but keep the Tribals," the man said, giving a nod towards the corner where Sabre, Brinson, and Tristan sat.

Gravitt frowned. "They could be useful to you."

"You know the man is needed for this operation. Introduce him around Vane as your comrade. For the woman, create a relation for her and the child. A sister in law, married your deceased brother would be good. It will sell your credibility."

Gravitt scowled at the thought of even _pretending_ that the Tribals were his equals. "How long until I can get the large ones?"

"Two days. Will that be enough time for you to cozy up to the idiot Guildmaster?"

"Perfect," Gravitt said with a smirk. "I'm one of her greatest benefactors and I've heard she's quite _available_ these days. A little charm should do the trick."

"Charm? Spare me the details." With a wicked simper, the bearded man wagged a finger at Gravitt as though he were a petulant child. "Don't forget that the word of Mia Ausa is law in Vane. Don't cross her or you could wind up dead and you'll compromise the entire plan. Though, I've heard no one has been executed under her reign."

"I know all that!" the mercenary snapped.

"Just _remember_ it, you fool," his comrade hissed as he stood up and pulled one last item from his bag. "One more thing—the Key. You'll need to give it to our friend. Then, you'll receive your payment."

Gravitt opened the box and looked upon a well-crafted star sapphire set into a beautiful silver necklace. "Nice work."

"I don't need you to tell me. Though, I won't take credit for the setting."

"Why a necklace, though?" Gravitt asked, still mesmerized by the stone.

The man gave a sick smile as his dark eyes gleamed with pride. "The best disguise is always in plain sight."


	5. Chapter Four

_**Rise from Ashes**_  
**Chapter Four**

* * *

Nash had a feeling that the stars were against him. Standing on the balcony of his newly acquired office, he looked out over Vane and admired the city in the morning light. He was glad this wasn't part of his living quarters. It was too accessible, being on the third floor near some of the top instructors' classrooms. Not that he didn't want to be approachable—just that he didn't want people constantly in and out of his home bombarding him with business. Gregory was right, as he always was. It was never good to live and work in the same space.

He smiled, thinking of his friend and all that he'd done for him. There was no way he'd ever be able to repay the old man for his kindness, a kindness Nash often wondered that he still deserved. In his stupidity of youth, he'd accepted Gregory's offer of an apprenticeship and when Ghaleon made the same offer, he reneged on the first. He'd thought Gregory would be happy for him, but he was not. Hurt, maybe, but Nash had foolishly interpreted this as jealousy and said some things he still regretted to this day. Although he'd apologized countless times and those apologies had been accepted, the guilt still racked him.

He sighed. Two days later, and Gregory's words still rang in his ears, but he still hadn't acted on the advice. There were too many things to think about, he'd told himself. So many things to consider how to phrase, to gently explain that the person someone had known for years was nothing but an act. And then there was the other matter—the fight that had split them apart two months ago. True, he'd forgiven her, but had she really forgiven him? Would she still forgive him knowing that he was lying to her for so long? Would she despise him for being a fraud all these years?

He hadn't wandered too far into those thoughts when annoyed footsteps echoing on the tile in his office caused him to turn around and walk back inside. A tall, black-haired man, about his age and dressed in the finest formal robes was standing there, arms crossed over his chest as he gave an indignant smirk at Rouke, one of Artie's men.

"Master Nash," the worker said, glaring at the tall man next to him. "We got a problem."

"The issue at hand is that you're simply an idiot," answered the black-haired mage as he brushed a lock of his bangs back into place.

Nash didn't have to ask why whatever this "problem" was had walked through his door. Unfortunate instances such as these came with the territory. Managing the faculty would soon be one of his official duties, although he'd been doing some of it unofficially for years in his efforts to aid in the restoration of Vane. Besides, if this dispute was one less thing that Mia had to deal with, he was glad to take it off her hands.

Knowing he had to remain professional, Nash tried to find a way to ignore the cold anger, fueled by years of contempt, which he felt for Orinth Dwyion. The black-haired mage that now stood before him had caused him more annoyance during his time at the Guild than any combination of people whatsoever. Orinth came from one of the most privileged families in Vane and he never let anyone forget that. Very few held private property in the city, as space was a precious commodity. The House of Dwyion was one of those few exceptions. They'd been known for generations for the strength of their magic and their leadership in the Guild. Many members of the family had served on the Guildmaster's Council or as Premier over the years and it was expected that Orinth, as the sole heir to the House, would do the same.

Orinth had the name and the talent, but he also had the _connections_ to be the Magic Guild's rising star of his generation. Connections, Nash learned, that would cause him much grief over the years. Orinth's mother was Lemia's closest friend, and he'd grown up playing with Mia. They always seemed a bit too close for Nash's liking, and though she'd assured him they were just friends, he never did trust Orinth in that regard.

But their rivalry wasn't just about Mia. No, Orinth despised the fact he'd been ousted from his place at the top of the class. He'd tormented Nash in those days, often with insults such as "Nameless Jackass" and "Worthless One." Things between them hadn't changed much since their school days. Orinth's barbs may have become more sophisticated, but the hatred behind them was still raw and real.

"What is the problem?" Nash asked, rather hoping this was something simple so he could rid himself of Orinth.

"The Boss said to find a magician to help us," Rouke said. "I asked Master Orinth here—"

Orinth's words were drawled in his arrogant, grating tone. "Oh, really? 'The Boss?' How adorable that you ruffians have a title for your brash little leader. It's much more appropriate than the one Majesty Mia wasted on her."

"Silence," Nash said, glowering at the mage as he struggled to hide his contempt. "Did you help them, _Master_ Orinth?"

"Alas, I tried, but my skills were apparently too much for them."

Rouke snorted. "He nearly killed Welks!"

Orinth rolled his bracelet absently around his wrist, not even bothering to look at the surly worker. "I only did as you asked."

"Yeah," Rouke said, putting his huge, calloused hands on his hips. "I told ya to float some shingles and planks up to the roof. Not catch Welks in a tornado!"

"How was I to know you'd have someone up there? If I can't see my target clearly and you don't inform me, I can't be responsible." Orinth looked at Nash. "As you can see, I did as I was asked, and to the best of my ability. Regardless, your friend Welks is fine and your materials are where you wanted them. Why not simply be glad for that instead of dragging me down here to our soon to be inaugurated Premier's office? I'm sure he has much more important things to do than listen to such petty complaints."

Rouke glared at him. "That ain't the point."

"Enough," Nash sighed. This was quickly becoming a waste of time and as much as he hated to admit it, Orinth was right. "Look, we've got a lot that needs to be done before the Festival starts tomorrow. Rouke, next time, tell whoever is helping you where your people are. If a magician can't see his target, we have to cast blind and that's dangerous." Looking at Orinth, Nash added: "Though I do think Master Orinth could've been more careful in this situation or used a more appropriate spell to serve your purposes."

Rouke didn't seem appeased, but still gave a respectful nod to Nash. "I better get back to work before The Boss kicks my ass." As he started to leave, he glanced over his shoulder at Orinth. "Just remember who fixed yer house up when it was a mess, pal."

When the large man had departed, Nash turned and walked back out onto his balcony. As luck would have it, Orinth decided to follow him.

"I would've never guessed in my wildest dreams that you'd have sided with me," his rival said as he walked over and leaned on the rail next to him, a self assured and confident tone coloring his statement. "That little group does seem to be your kind of people."

"Your home and all of Vane would still be in ruins if weren't for them," he retorted, refusing to look at Orinth. "I'd gladly claim them as 'my kind of people.'"

Orinth played with one of his rings, turning it slowly around his finger. "That may be true, but they have no place here. Just as you have no place living in that suite or occupying this office." He gestured back towards the room.

"Don't you have something to do?" Nash asked, frustration creaking through his tone as he finally glared at the other mage. The sooner he could rid himself of Orinth, the better—especially now, since he was clearly trying to pick a fight.

"I am doing something. I'm talking to my soon to be Premier."

"Something _else_."

Orinth smirked and moved even closer to him. "Ironic that you were chosen, wouldn't you say? I mean, considering all the damage you did to this place." His hazel eyes flashing maliciously, he added in a much quieter voice, "And to Mia."

Nash glared at his former classmate, knowing he was being goaded and desperately trying not to give Orinth the satisfaction of succeeding in it. "I never hurt Mia."

The black-haired man gave a shake of his head. "So you say. Yet somehow I doubt that. Your little tizzy fit did quite a bit of damage, and how poor Mia cried when she saw the destruction!" He wagged a disdainful finger. "Don't try to deny it wasn't your doing."

"I never denied it," Nash snapped, his temper rising as he held Orinth's gaze. "Now, get out. I have things to do. Things much more important than listening to you and all of your idiotic ramblings!"

Orinth didn't make an attempt to move. His voice was quiet and menacing as a sneer played on his lips. "Odd isn't? I mean, you didn't even have to take, let alone pass, the Master's Exam. They just went and gave you the badge. Then, you needed a family name to claim the title of Premier, and one was given to you almost out of thin air. I know that the House of Telka is desperate for an heir, but to go this far!"

"Don't you dare insult Gregory!" Nash seethed, his hands balling into fists. He _couldn't_ let Orinth get the best of him. No, not now. Not _ever_.

"How very kind of you to defend your _father_," Orinth said, taking another step closer to his colleague and lowering his voice. "Now I know that you saved the world, and I know you had a lot to do with the rebuilding of our fair city, but there are a lot of us on the faculty who just can't help but wonder if you didn't just sleep your way to the top."

Nash's dark eyes narrowed as his voice trembled with rage. "Now you're disrespecting Mia! Shut up, or by Althena you'll live just long enough to regret it!"

"Is that a threat?" the taller man asked mockingly. "From the new Premier to one of his staff? I must say, that is indeed highly unprofessional, Nashyboy. Very bad form."

Nash's retort was spoken between closed teeth as he grabbed the other man's collar. "Call me that again and I'll kill you with my bare hands. Staff? Don't make me laugh! And no, that's not a threat. It's a promise! I should have killed you when—"

"Oh I doubt that you would have done that. Guild Law applies," Orinth replied dismissively.

"There are ways other than magic!" Nash snarled, shaking the other mage hard before letting him go. Fearing he might fall into Orinth's obvious trap and do something stupid—something that would cause the Council to retract Mia's offer—he stepped backward and away from the other man.

""Don't want to talk about your failures? There are so many of them!" He tapped his chin in thought. "What should we start with? How about when Mia had to—"

Walking back towards his office, Nash called over his shoulder. "Don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out."

"Too afraid to fight?" Orinth taunted, crossing his arms over his chest. "As I understand it, that's what caused all that trouble way back when. I mean, poor Mia had to rescue you from Ghaleon's clutches, didn't she? You were absolutely helpless, according to the sources." He ran his fingers through his hair, a look of disgust on his face as he wrinkled his nose. "Some Hero you are! You're a _fraud_, Nash. You know it. I know it. Too bad Mia is just too damn naïve to admit it."

"At least I did something! As I recall, _you_ did nothing!" Nash turned and stalked up to his rival. That was it. He wasn't going to walk away from this, not now.

"That '_something_' that nearly cost our Guildmaster her life," Orinth said, giving him a condescending pat on the shoulder. "And something like that is really kind of a worthless something, isn't it? Worthless like you." He feathered his hair back out of his face. "But after this, now I know what she saw in you! You're rather cute when you're mad."

It was more of a growl than a statement. "Go to Hell!"

"I sincerely thank you for the invitation, but alas, I'm afraid I must decline," Orinth answered, giving a flippant wave of his hand as he circled around Nash. "You know, I believe you're already there, though! I do so enjoy watching you give your pathetic doting stares to the former object of your affection, only to turn to stone when she does speak to you. Why see a play or read a novel when I can just watch this? It's wonderfully amusing, and quite fitting I do believe. Don't you remember when we were in class and I told you that you never stood a chance with her? You should have listened to me. It might have saved you all of this entertaining little heartbreak."

Nash was doing all he could to contain his temper. Damn Orinth for knowing exactly which buttons to press. Taking a long breath, he rubbed his forehead and said, "Just leave, _please_."

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Orinth said, taking a step back towards the building before tossing one last insult with a dirty smirk on his face. "But I should say that I find it so pathetic that you're always the focus of her thoughts—especially at those completely _inappropriate_ moments. I'm not sure what I found more distasteful—hearing that or knowing you were there first."

That was the last straw. Nash had been fighting his rage, but now his hands instinctively raised themselves into a casting gesture. He didn't care about Guild Law. He didn't care about the consequences. To Hell with professionalism! He just wanted to see that ridiculous smirk wiped off this disgusting man's face.

But, before he could bother to think of a spell worthy of being wasted on Orinth, a rope surprisingly dropped between the two of them. Not even an instant later, Artie coasted down it and slammed her hip into Orinth's side, sending him off balance.

The black-haired mage regained his footing and snapped at her. "Idiot!"

"Sorry," she said, fiddling with the metal clasp on her harness. "My release is acting up. Probably needs to be tightened." She shook the thing vigorously and then slid upwards a few feet before coming right back down. Once again, she crashed into Orinth, this time with a half-hearted "Oops."

"You stupid, common bitch!"

Dangling a foot or so above the ground she gave a wry grin. "That the best insult you got for me, Master Orinth?"

Having taken the time to collect himself in the moments that Artie had bought for him, Nash calmly said to Orinth, "I think I asked you to leave."

"You heard the man," Artie said, swinging one of the extra loops of her harness. "Get out or I'll hook you up by your belt. Don't know this rig will hold you, though."

Orinth smirked, but Artie had already reached around his waist for his belt to prove she wasn't kidding. Shaking his head in infuriated defeat, he spun on his heel and quickly retreated into the building.

"I think he remembers when I kicked his ass in school," the engineer said, watching him go with a grin. "It was kind of worth the month of washroom cleaning duty."

Nash chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "How long have you been up there?"

"Long enough to know why I still hate that guy," she said, setting her feet on the ground and starting to pull the rope down from the rigging above. "After what he did to you and Majesty Mia, I can't believe he still has friends around here at all."

"How do you know about all that?" Nash asked, embarrassment in his expression and annoyance in his tone as he stared at her blankly.

She coiled up her rope on her arm as she spoke. "Most of the faculty knows, Nash. The Elite guards in this place have loose lips, especially when they drink. Besides, like you, I have a key to every lock in the building. I know everyone's dirty little secrets." Giving him a smirk, she asked, "Want to know what Master Robin keeps under her bed?"

"Goddess, no."

"It is kind of gross. Kinky, even."

Nash shuddered at the thought. "Artie…"

She laughed. "Anyway, just because we're polite enough not to talk about it, doesn't mean we don't know."

Nash leaned on the rail, bent over, and rested his head on his arms. "Great." That was just another thing he had to worry about.

Artie gave him a poke in the side. "If you ever want him to disappear, just tell everyone I was with you from midnight until four in the morning."

He straightened up and laughed.

"I'm serious! I'd have him dead and buried by dawn," she said, grinning. "Anyway, back to work. Do me a favor and don't get cornered by that guy again. I may not be around to keep you from doing something stupid the next time. It was so obvious he was baiting you. I can't believe you fell for it."

"Thanks," was all he said, knowing she was right about everything—especially his temper.

She gave a nod, stood up on the railing, and tossed the one end of her rope to him. "Tie that to something."

Nash's eyes widened as he caught it and rushed to loop and knot it around one of the heavy stone balustrades, silently questioning if his friend had a death wish. "Artie! Wait! I don't know if that'll hold."

She was ignoring him and looking off into the distance, using her hand to shield the sun from her eyes. "I think important company just arrived."

"What?"

"I just saw a dragon. Look! There it is again!" she said, pointing at a large white creature circling above a clearing outside of the city.

It was the first moment of elation he'd felt in a long while. "That's definitely Alex and Luna!"

"Well, get going and go greet them!" she said, throwing the free end of the rope below after running it through the clasp on her harness.

"You're trusting my knot?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Everyone knows what you and Majesty Mia did to save us all, but I also know it was the two of you who really rebuilt this city. My guys might have helped with some of the brains and a lot of the brawn, but you two had the _will_. I know the two of you can handle the impossible, and that's the reason my guys and I follow you both. So yeah, I trust you to tie a stupid knot."

And, with that, she jumped off the balcony.

* * *

Jessica and Luna excitedly hurried through the congested corridors of the Magic Guild. They'd left the task of bringing in the bags and unpacking to the men and set off on their own quest to find Mia. It had been too long since they'd had a chance to see each other and since their last visit had been under rather unpleasant circumstances, both women were determined to make this one much happier. Though they hadn't been too surprised when only Nash greeted them at the city gates, the way he'd answered when asked where Mia was brought a frown of concern to Jessica's face. His tone was unusually dark and irritated as he muttered, "Try her room."

They came to the door to Mia's private wing and stopped. Decorated in lush gold leaf with her family crest, the entrance to the Guildmaster's suite spoke well of the luxury that lay within and showed an astonishing touch of extravagance. Jessica tried to walk past, but the two guards stepped in front of her. The younger of the two guards spoke. "I don't believe Majesty Mia is expecting you, and no one enters without her permission."

Jessica glared at him and spat, "She doesn't need to expect me, you idiot! Don't you know who I am?"

"Jessica," Luna said sternly before addressing the guard in a much more friendly tone as she brushed a stray lock of her blue hair back into place. "Please tell her that Luna and Jessica are here."

The older man slipped into the room on the other side, his response to the women nothing more than a nod. A moment later he returned and held one of the double doors to the suite open. "My deepest apologies, ladies. Please understand we have tightened security for the Festival. Majesty Mia will receive you in her bedroom. Please take the first door on the left."

After such trouble to simply see their friend, the two young women weren't quite certain what to expect. Walking into the foyer and down the short hallway, Luna knocked on the door they had been directed to, and yet another guard—this one female-opened it. With less than a glance to her, the two friends stepped into the bedroom, both impressed by the grandeur of the space. It was at least twice the size of the faculty dorms they had been assigned, and far more luxurious.

At the far end was a large bed with its purple velvet curtains pulled back, as if proclaiming the ornate gold headboard that was decorated with the Ausa family crest. Strangely, sitting on the bed was a stuffed toy in the shape of some kind of monster. Jessica shook her head remembering her friend's bizarre fondness for the creature called a Gorgon. Other furniture in the room was typical of the faculty quarters. The dressers, desk and tables were all made of fine varnished wood, with polished marble tops. A dressing screen was in the far corner, and two large doors opened out onto a private balcony, letting in some fresh air. The only oddity was a hole in the ceiling, square in shape, and patched with rough pieces of lumber as well as a tarp. Effective for keeping out the elements, but certainly out of place with the rest of the décor.

In the center of the room, stood the Guildmaster, balanced atop a small stool and dressed in an elegant red and gold gown while an older woman bustled around her. The seamstress was constantly adjusting this fold and that seam, and pinning this to that as her hands danced around the soft fabric. All the while the old woman was muttering under her breath, her words mostly obscured by the pins and needles she held in her mouth. Another female guard stood a few feet away, watching them closely.

On hearing her friends' entry Mia gathered the wide skirt about her, jumped from her perch, and ran toward them, the train of her dress pulling the stool over behind her. She hugged her friends excitedly and smiled. "Jess, Luna! You're here already? How wonderful!"

The old woman spat out the pins and threw the pincushion she'd been holding to the floor, watching as it rolled a short distance from her. She gave a disgusted look to the Guildmaster as she righted the footstool. "If you want me to have that dress finished by the time you inaugurate that Premier of yours, you will get right back over here, Majesty Mia!"

"I'm guessing this is the surprise you mentioned in your last letter," Jessica said cautiously, giving a worried glance to Luna.

Mia nodded and her answer was harried, hoping the discussion would not upset her friend who had been the primary victim of the last Premier's schemes. "The Faculty need a leader and Nash is perfect for the job."

"I'm sure he'll do well," Luna said with a smile. "Although I'm surprised he didn't mention it before, when we landed."

Before Mia could even think up something to offer as a response concerning Nash's behavior, the seamstress tapped her foot on the stool. "Any day now, Majesty! You are more difficult than your mother and grandmother combined!"

"Everyone around here is cranky today," Jessica said with a grin. "Nash, your seamstress, the guards…"

Mia laughed as she hugged her friends again, blushing a bit from embarrassment. "I'm sorry, but Master Alastair is getting downright paranoid with all the visitors coming in these days, and he has the guards on strict orders." Looking back at the seamstress, she gave a nod. "But Magda's right. I really do need to let her finish working on this dress. Please, stay with me while she does. Being a human clothes hanger is awfully boring."

With a bright smile, Mia grasped her friends' hands and pulled them back with her, as the seamstress angrily saved the train from being destroyed a second time. She stepped back up onto the stool and teetered for a moment, almost losing her balance as her friends steadied her. "Is this okay, Magda?"

The old woman mutely nodded and again began trying to reset the creases and seams that Mia's movements had pulled loose. Her weathered hands worked quickly to pin where the garment would have to be altered from its last resizing.

Jessica grinned at her petite friend and the fantastic gown. The bodice fit tight, pushing up in all the right places without compromising Mia's tiny frame. The short, decorative sleeves fell off her shoulders, letting her black curls brush the red, airy fabric and her skin. Red and gold beads trailed across her chest in a flame pattern, the crest of her house in the center. More golden fabric shimmered within the folds of the skirt, giving the illusion that the gown was aflame. "Wow, Mia. That's some dress."

"It looks absolutely stunning on you," Luna said, nodding in agreement.

"It's a family heirloom," Mia answered. "It's ancient, as old as Vane I was once told. No one really knows what the cloth is made of. It never seems to tear or show wear, and even after all the generations it has witnessed, it looks brand new. It only comes out when we inaugurate a new Premier."

Jessica smirked. "You know, when your invitation arrived, I thought it was for a wedding."

Mia's lips held in a tense line as she turned her head away from her friends. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"It hurt to pay Kyle that three thousand silver, you know."

"You had a bet going?" Luna asked with chuckle.

"Damn right I did," Jessica said before turning back to Mia and giving her friend a wink. "Next time, don't let me down. I'll give you a generous cut."

Mia gave a sigh and rubbed her forehead. As much as she admired Jessica's exuberance, this was not the time.

"The Guild looks beautiful," said Luna, clearly trying to change the subject since it was painfully obvious that Jessica's teasing was upsetting their friend.

"Thank you," Mia answered with a grateful smile that Luna had taken the conversation down a different venue. "Everyone has worked so hard. I'm very proud of what they accomplished."

Jessica pointed to the hastily patched hole in the ceiling. "You'd better get your money back on this room, though. They forgot that gaping thing."

"It was the storm," Mia explained quickly, before glancing down at the seamstress and paying rapt attention to the area of the dress currently being worked on.

Luna gave her friends a wink as she broke the uncomfortable silence. "I don't know how much swearing in Nash is going to be doing with you standing near him in that gown!"

"I'll be surprised if he's able to chain two words together without stammering," Jessica teased.

Luna turned to Jess, giggling. "Maybe she should wear a burlap sack instead!"

Despite their attempt at levity, Mia seemed a bit sad as she said quietly, "You're too kind. I'm an ugly duckling in comparison to my mother. And, to be honest, I'm not sure he'll even notice."

"Please," Jessica said with a grin. "He follows you around like a lovesick puppy, even after all these years and all that we've been through. Trust me. He'll notice."

Mia forced a smile, desperately trying to change the subject. "Where's Kalyn? I adore your daughter, Jess. She looks more and more like you every time I see her."

The blonde woman smirked. "Off being Daddy's Little Girl. I never have to worry about Kyle getting into trouble with Kalyn around. She runs him so ragged he's too exhausted to even look for it."

Luna winked at Jessica. "I sent Alex with them. He needs some _practice_."

Mia looked between the two of them with a raised brow. "Practice?"

"Practice," Luna repeated deliberately with a warm, telling smile.

"Oh!" Mia exclaimed, suddenly understanding. She jumped off the stool again and threw her arms around Luna. "Oh my goodness! That's wonderful! How many months now?"

"Two," Luna replied as she embraced her friend again. "Although I admit getting sick every morning isn't all that wonderful."

"That should end shortly," Jessica said.

Frustrated, Magda picked up her sewing basket, not bothering to right the stool. "I'll come back when you're not so distracted, Majesty."

"This is such happy news!" Mia said, not giving notice to the seamstress' departure. "I should get out of this gown." With a sigh, she disappeared behind the changing screen and reappeared in a few moments clad in a much more practical blue dress.

As the Guildmaster handed her gown to the young female guard in the room, Jessica gave a soft cough and dredged up the subject Mia expertly avoided before. "You know, come to think of it, you do seem to be falling behind the rest of us here."

As luck would have it for Mia, Luna wasn't going to let Jessica go there. She walked up to the open balcony door and let the breeze touch her skin. "Your city is so beautiful, Mia. I remember the first time Alex and I saw Vane. I'll never forget it. I've still never seen a place so magnificent."

"Thank you," Mia said, following her. "I just hope we regain our place as the seat of knowledge in the world. My mother valued that above all of the magic."

"I think you're already there."

Just then, a knock came on the door and Jessica heard a voice she knew too well arguing with the guards.

Mia quickly stepped to the door and opened it, beaming at the people there. "Oh come in! All of you!" She didn't even bother to talk to the guard who recognized defeat as she gestured to him to close the door behind them.

Kalyn ran straight for her mother, her blonde hair waving behind her as her small beast ears twitched with excitement. As she gave Jessica a quick hug she cried out in a happy voice. "Mommy! We saw fire! We saw lots and lots of fire! We saw a man eating fire! Like a dragon!"

"We don't eat fire!" Nall snapped as flew towards Mia and nuzzled her cheek before sitting on her shoulder. She gave the little dragon a quick pat on the head before he said, "I've missed you, Mia."

"Oh Nall," she laughed. "I've missed you, too. I had some fresh fish from Lann delivered just for you!"

The dragon nuzzled her again. "This is why I love Mia. She's so nice and always prepared! And she feeds me fish! Fish from Lann!"

Alex laughed, his kindly face framed by his chestnut hair. "You like anyone who has fish, Nall."

"Do you like me, Nall?" Kalyn asked.

"Of course I do!" the little creature laughed.

The little girl giggled. "It's because I made you a picture!"

Mia laughed, giving a soft smile at the girl and her parents. She turned to Alex and gave him a hug. "I heard the good news. Congratulations!"

Alex's cheeks turned a little pink as he returned the embrace with a glance to his wife. "Thanks."

A swift yet friendly silence filled the room, until Kalyn shouted again, "I wanna go back! I wanna go play the games and watch the magic!"

"She's addicted to that Festival," Kyle said to Jessica. "I need a break but I'll take her back after lunch. Besides, I think Alex was having fun playing chase the trouble maker."

"Could be worse, I guess," Jessica replied playfully.

Alex didn't say a word as his green eyes smiled at all of them.

"My wings are tired after following Kalyn. Your kid better not be as energetic!" Nall spat as he resumed his usual perch on Alex's shoulder.

Jessica frowned, realizing the happy reunion was missing one glaringly important piece. "Where's Nash?"

"I don't know," Kyle shrugged. "He showed us to our rooms and then just disappeared. We tried looking in his room, his office, and even the Library, but no luck."

"He certainly does do that," Mia said quietly with a sigh. "He'll turn up soon enough."

Jessica noted that Mia's tone was enough to halt the entire conversation, and she gave Kyle a look that demanded that he follow her request. "Why don't you take Kalyn to lunch at the Festival?"

"Yeah! Lunch! Outside! With the fire people!" the little girl said excitedly.

Kyle scooped her up with a tired sigh and looked to Alex. "You ready for another round, Daddy?"

"Actually, I'd like to borrow him for awhile," Luna said.

Mia smiled at the two of them. "Please come back at six-thirty. I'm having a special meal prepared for us."

"I can't wait!" Luna replied as she tugged on her husband's sleeve. "Come on, Alex."

Alex was smart enough not to argue with his wife, and followed her as Jessica glared at them. She knew something was wrong and she was annoyed that Luna was leaving her to handle it

"All right," Kyle sighed. "I'll see you later, Jess."

The little girl perched in his arms gave an excited wave to her mother and Mia, and then she and her father left, the door closing behind them.

Now alone with Mia, Jessica led her out onto the balcony, the spring air too inviting to ignore. They stood in silence, looking out over the courtyard below where a large stage had been erected and tables were being placed. Jessica found some words, not as direct as she hoped, but the sadness she sensed around her friend kept her demeanor gentler than usual. "It's beautiful—maybe even more so than it was before. I could enjoy a week or two here, but I don't think I could stay. Might make me soft or something."

"Soft? What are you talking about Jessica? A lot of what we've done we adapted from _your_ city."

"Not _my _city, Mia. My father's city. I don't run it, and I enjoying being able to leave it from time to time. In fact, Kyle and are even thinking of going back to Nanza once Kalyn gets a little older."

"Why?" Mia asked, leaning on the railing. She was honestly surprised, as Jessica had never brought up this topic of conversation before. "I don't understand, Jessica. I mean, I could never leave Vane—even if I wanted to, I just couldn't."

"A change of pace, for starters," she laughed before glancing at the Guildmaster. "That's where we differ so much, Mia. You force this responsibility on yourself."

"I was born into this position, Jessica. Just as you were born into your title."

"My title? Titles are meaningless to me. I've told my father flat out that I'd rather not rule the city. He understands. He has many good years left in him, and if at some time I chose to change my mind, then fine. If not, fine too."

"So what will he do if you don't change your mind? It sounds to me like you're running away from the situation, Jessica."

The beast-eared woman turned quickly, almost snapping out her reply. "I never run away from anything. You know me better than that, Mia." She hesitated a moment, as though regretting the strength of her reaction as she cast her gaze to the floor. "Ruling a city, though—especially after seeing what you've had to go through to do it, well, I just don't want that headache. It's not that I couldn't handle it. I'm sure I could, especially with Kyle's help—it's just that you don't get a break. I watch Dad run himself crazy with some idiotic things—and that's why he's not here for your Festival, by the way. Some absurdity with the boatswains and taxes again! Anyway, he just couldn't leave. It's almost funny, he's supposed to be the most powerful man in Meribia, yet he has less freedom than anyone! I don't ever want to be in that position. I want some degree of independence." She paused for a moment and looked at her friend. "And you know what? I can tell you want some of that, too."

Jessica frowned as she saw Mia's gentle face twitch in either self-hatred or anger—she wasn't sure. She put a hand on her friend's back and glanced behind her to see the ever-present irritation of a guard. "Go away!"

Mia turned to the man. "Please, I'm all right. Wait for me inside. Thank you."

As the guard left, Jessica found a seat on one of the benches in the hanging garden that consumed most of the balcony. She tilted her head as she squinted at a thin, bronze colored needle that stabbed high into the sky at the corner of the Guild Manor.

"What is that thing? I've never seen anything like that before. What, you don't want people sitting on the rooftops or something?"

Mia fought a laugh as she joined her friend on the garden bench. "Goodness, no! It's a lightning rod—or at least that's what Master Artemus calls them."

Jessica raised an eyebrow. "What does it do?"

"They're on all of our buildings," Mia said quietly. "Master Artemus came up with them after the storm that nearly ruined the Guild. She said she got the idea after watching the way lightning kept hitting the bronze statues down in the courtyard. They're supposed to catch the lightning and run it into the ground. I guess it's better than it hitting the buildings." She paused, her brow furrowing for a moment. "Anyway, they protect us from storms." She sighed and added under her breath, "And thunder mages with very short tempers."

"Can't you people control the weather? I mean, you can control everything else, right?"

Mia fidgeted with the neckline of her dress. She wasn't entirely certain she liked the direction this conversation was heading. "Normally? Yes, within reason. But this one _was_ controlled—it was pure magic. I could feel it the second I…" Her voice trailed off.

"It was sent by someone? Couldn't you feel who was behind it then?"

"Yes," Mia whispered, rubbing her forehead. "Of course I could. I didn't even need to sense the magic. I just knew."

"Well? Who was it?"

Mia shook her head, not wanting to meet Jessica's eyes. "That's not important, and it certainly won't happen again."

Jessica glared at her. "It was Nash, wasn't it?"

The reply was too fast and far too forced. "I didn't say it was Nash!" Whether she was trying to convince Jessica or herself, Mia wasn't even entirely sure.

"You also didn't say it _wasn't _Nash, and you're being way too defensive for it to have been just anyone. I know he's been pain in the ass for most of his life, but why would he want to do something like that? Goddess, Mia, he worships the ground you walk on, and he wanted to see this place rebuilt as badly as you. It doesn't make any sense!" She paused, and softened her voice. "What was his problem that he'd do something like that?"

"I was the problem."

"What did you do to him?"

Mia stood up and took a few steps into her garden her eyes fixed on a bush of fragrant white flowers. "I don't wish to talk about it."

Jessica followed, giving a shake of her head at her friend. "Let me tell you something, Mia. Nash may be a lot of unpleasant things, but he is madly in love with you. He would do anything for you—he has told you so himself. Now, at one time, you said you loved—"

Mia interrupted her flatly, her tone sharper than it was before. "I don't deserve him. I would appreciate it if we just left it at that."

"You damn well deserve each other!"

The Guildmaster picked one of the white flowers and held it gingerly as she methodically pulled the petals from it. "Jessica, he doesn't even notice me any more. I seriously doubt he even remembers caring for me, especially since what I did was unforgivable. Completely beyond redemption."

"Those are all lovely excuses, Mia. Just remember Nash has some sins of his own on his shoulders. So, whatever it was that you did probably pales in comparison." With a grin, she took the flower from her friend's palm and tossed it back into the garden.

Mia gave a long sigh as she put a delicate hand to her face.

"But you can fix this, Mia," she said, taking her friend's hands and holding them tightly. "You just need to make him notice. You just need to makehim remember."

"I don't really know how," Mia sighed, glancing away from her friend. "I've tried apologizing. I've tried talking to him."

Jessica smirked and raised a brow, crossing her arms over her chest. "And that's the problem. If you were doing it right, you wouldn't be _talking_."

* * *

Nash wasn't in the mood to be social.

While seeing his friends was a welcome respite from the running around he'd been doing to help with the Festival, he didn't want to have to spend the evening playing nice and dodging the questions about a subject that was still sore. It wasn't a matter of whether such questions would arise, no, that was inevitable. It was a matter of _when_.

Fortunately, it was not addressed at supper, despite the obvious tension in the room. He arrived some twenty minutes late, gave Mia a quick bow and apology for his tardiness before taking his seat next to her. She smiled and teased him about how Alex and Kyle had spent the day looking for him, but instead of giving an answer or a smile, he simply said, "My apologies, Majesty."

As the meal was served, there wasn't much joking with friends or remembering of their adventuring days. Conversations, no matter who started them, or what they were about, didn't last long enough to even be called that, and the friction between the two mages quickly drained any and all joy and life from the room. Mia made quite a few desperate attempts to pretend there was nothing was wrong and that angered Nash more than anything. Though he hated to admit it, the wounds may have healed, but they felt fresh as he watched her place more importance in the appearance of normality than reality itself. The last insult came just as dessert was served. While hearing Luna tell of the preparations she and Alex had begun to make for the baby, Mia reached to grasp Nash's hand in a gentle show of affection. With a glare, he quickly jerked it away and excused himself from the table.

Despite Jessica calling after him, he made a quick retreat down the corridor, to the west wing and into his suite. He dropped into one of the large, wing-backed chairs in his study and frowned. He rubbed his face in disgust at his behavior. Even though his pride had been hurt, did he have to really behave so badly? Especially in front of their friends? Long moments passed as he considered walking back and apologizing, but he knew the party would've already broken up. His fault, yes. Just another problem he'd caused for them. Could they really just keep forgiving him? Alex probably would. That man's patience seemed to be infinite and Nash secretly wished he'd learned to show as much restraint and compassion as his friend.

Taking a long breath, he rubbed his forehead in thought. He knew he had to end this ridiculous charade. Gregory was right. Tell Mia the truth, let bygones be bygones, forgive and forget, or just move on. Resting his cheek in his palm as he propped himself in the huge, comfortable chair, his mind wandered back to a time it was perfect. Or, at least, it seemed that way.

Two months ago, Mia had sent him on a mission. She wanted some books from the prairie and though he'd tried four times to get them by courier but failed. It was at the height of her obsession with making the Library what it was once was, and as always, he swore he'd fulfill her dreams. In March, when the weather was favorable, he and Gregory made the journey to the Prairie. They acquired the books, but on the way back, Nash didn't want to stop, even at night. He just wanted to get back to Vane—and to Mia. But Gregory couldn't keep up with the pace and struck a bargain with him.

The forest were Gregory had chosen to stop was warm despite the cool March night. The trees provided them good cover and the Blue Star's rays brought just enough light to make the sinister sounds of the woods less intimidating. Looking heavenward, Gregory sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Tell you what, if I can prove to you that she's all right, we camp for the night, okay?"

Nash looked at him dubiously, "How are you going to do that?"

"I'm the Master of Illusion Magic, remember? I'll think of something," he replied with a grin. "Now, while I think of an appropriate spell, why don't you take care of the horses?"

Grudgingly, Nash dismounted and freed his horse of its saddle, walking it and Gregory's mount to a nearby stream for some water. He grit his teeth, hoping he wasn't going to regret giving in to the old man's insistence that they rest.

As he led the horses back to camp, he saw that Gregory had started a fire and was sitting next to it, eating a piece of bread. "Are you positive you need to do this? I mean, she does have her own personal guards and an army at her disposal."

Nash tied the horses to a tree, and nodded, taking some fruit out of his saddlebag that was lying next to it. "I do. I miss her and I worry that something's wrong. Call it a gut feeling."

The older mage laughed, "You've got to be desperate, and Althena knows you'll be a grumpy, distracted, and very unpleasant traveling companion if you don't get over this." With a small sigh he nodded. "Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. We may as well do this right. You realize that this goes against just about every rule of Vane? Spying on the Guildmaster isn't something taken lightly."

"I'm not spying! I'm checking on her!"

Gregory shook his head, "Either way, you realize the consequences of this?"

"Yes, I'll take full responsibility," he said hastily.

"No, we're in this together. Come, stand here."

Nash did as he was told. "What are you going to do? Make her appear in the fire?"

The older mage scoffed, "That's child's play. You could probably even do that if you knew the spell. You want to see her, right? You're going to see her—the real her, and what she's doing at this very instant."

"How can you—"

"Do you want me to do this?" Gregory asked, a little more annoyed than not.

"Yes! Of course!"

"Then be quiet!"

Nash held his hands up defensively and remained silent.

Satisfied that his friend was not going to ask any more questions, the Illusionist closed his eyes for a moment, crossing his arms over his chest with the palms open and pressing against his shoulders. For a brief moment his lips seemed to move as though speaking silently to himself, yet there was no sound, and even that small movement quickly stilled. Then, reality… as it had been… ended.

Nash stared around him in amazement. He would have sworn it was real, if he hadn't known otherwise. Gregory was a true master at his craft—all of his senses were absorbed in the mirage. The cold clearing, the tall and bare surrounding trees, even the warmth and crackle of the campfire melted away before him, abruptly snapping into a new and very different scene. Suddenly he was standing in Mia's bedroom, feeling the soft carpet under his feet and smelling the fragrance of the fresh flowers she kept on the small table near her bed.

The glass door to her private balcony was open and the wind caught the drapes in a dance, inviting him to wander toward them. He did so, feeling the breeze on his cheek as he walked through, the rays of the Blue Star offer some degree of guidance in the darkness. He glanced down, surprised to see the faint shadow he cast in the illusion in the Blue Star's light.

And there she was. Standing with her back to the door, and dressed in one of her favorite nightgowns, and looking out into the direction he had traveled when he left Vane. She had pulled her hair atop her head and fastened it there with a clip, exposing the nape of her neck and the top of her bare back. She must have been cold, he guessed. For although he couldn't feel the temperature, the image was so detailed, he could see goose bumps on her skin.

He smiled as the breeze caught the translucent lavender dress, pulling it away from her body for an instant and then back again, pushing the straps off her shoulders in the process—a detail she didn't bother to fix. Instead she just leaned further over the stone rail, keeping her eyes focused on the distance.

Now, just an arms length away, her delicate scent—the smell of gardenias—her favorite flower, caressed him. Whatever Gregory had done, it was perfect. As if in a trance, he moved closer, and just a little to the side so he could see her face. He knew the look she wore all too well-worry. Those violet eyes were trained on some unreachable vastness-full of anxiety, concern, and was that a hint of loneliness he detected?

He reached a hand out to her, to try and touch the back of her neck, to let her know he was there, that he was all right, and that he would return soon. He gasped when it just slipped through her as if she didn't exist. Like washing a paintbrush in water, the colors melted together, and while it was pretty, but it certainly wasn't tangible. With a sigh, he took his hand back, and watched as the image restored itself, filling in the spot he had damaged.

Looking again at her, he noticed she carried something. When he realized what it was his smiled and focused on just observing her and her companion. She cradled a small stuffed toy in her arms, a toy he had given her on her birthday two years ago. For some reason, she'd always had a strange affection for an ugly little monster called a Gorgon. Many would call the thing absolutely hideous, with its large one eye and tentacle like arms, but she just adored it. It had taken weeks to find a toy maker willing to make a stuffed replica of the strange beast. The old seamstress had clearly doubted his sanity as he described and drew it, but the smile on Mia's face when he gave it to her was worth all the effort and odd looks. She had said it was the best gift she had ever received, and from that day on it sat on her bed during the sunlight hours, and watched over her at night from her dresser.

He listened as she started a conversation with the toy. She spoke to it as if she were a child again, confiding all of her secrets to her very best—if very imaginary—friend. "I wish he'd come back, Lil' Gon. I miss him so much. I can't believe I sent him away like this-or for so long. It's so lonely here. You know, when we first started rebuilding and he'd ride off from Meribia, I'd miss him, too. I didn't know how to tell him that, but I always waited for him to get back. I never wanted him to leave and now I've sent him off to the Prairie."

Despite a small nagging feeling of guilt at being here and intruding on her private thoughts, he continued listening.

A quiet remembering smile formed on her lips as she paused, and then told the doll, "Can you believe it's been four years? Four whole years, Lil' Gon! I remember we were standing out on a balcony like this when he kissed me. You weren't there so you don't remember."

Nash grinned at the memory. _I remember...I was so nervous... I half expected you to laugh at me, or slap me and run away._

She sighed and looked down at the ugly doll. "You know, before she died, Mother told me that she had changed her mind about Nash. She said that she respected him again. She even said that I was lucky to have such a good friend, even though he had made mistakes in the past. She was proud of him, for all he did for us, and for Vane. She told me I shouldn't be afraid of what I feel, and that I should be happy. Mother said she was happy-once."

_Thank you, Lemia. I know I didn't deserve your forgiveness..._

"He was right, Gon about my obsessive behavior as of late. But I just can't sit back and do nothing. I have to rebuild the Guild. My mother loved it, and I let it fall."

_Not this again! You did what you had to do, Mia. It was unavoidable! If only I were there to tell you that, again..._

"But Nash is right. I can't keep going like this. I'm tearing both of us apart, and I need him, even more than the Guild needs him I need him. I know I need to step back, and think about myself for a little while. The Guild can wait, and I want to be happy, if even for a little while."

_Finally! I want you to stop being everything to everybody as well. I want my Mia back. Then, we'll find a way to make your dream real. Together._

She sighed and kissed her friend right on its giant eyeball. "He used to keep hinting at wanting to marry me, but he always seemed afraid to ask me directly. And, you know, I'm kind of glad he didn't."

His eyes closed tightly and he put a trembling hand to his face. _I knew it. Not good enough._ Still trying to hide his face from her-even though she couldn't see him-he kept an ear on what was being said. Though, it only half registered in his mind as he clenched his teeth in an effort to choke back his emotions.

"I was scared, Gon. I know that sounds silly, but I really was. Afraid that I'd say yes, and what might happen. My family carries a terrible curse, and Mother said, that because of my father it could be the exact opposite for me. So, either way, it would hurt Nash."

He didn't move from his anguished stance but managed a thought._ Your father? You've never mentioned him, Mia. What curse is this? I wish you would tell me. Perhaps we can break it._

She smiled again and pulled the toy closer to her, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But I want to tell you a secret, Lil' Gon. I'm not afraid anymore. I want to be happy, I want to have a family, and be normal, not just Vane's Guildmaster! I want to ask him to marry me. I don't know what he'll say, though. He tried to talk to me about it a few times, and I kept dodging him because I was scared. I don't know what I was afraid of, but I'm not anymore. Now I'm sure. I'm nervous though. Maybe you could do it for me? Could you ask him for me?"

His hand slid off his face in elated astonishment as he felt his heart leap inside of his chest. _Oh Mia! I'll be home soon, I promise! And then, I'll take you into my arms and I'll ask you myself!_

A soft sigh of exhaustion came to Nash's ear and he felt the illusion start to fade, the edge of the balcony blurring softly and slowly began to shift and dissolve into the darkness of night. But, before she could fade from view, Mia turned to look over her shoulder with a surprised, almost desperate expression to stare directly at him. As the vision diminished and she too disappeared into the night, he heard her speak his name in a confused whisper.

He reached out, calling back to her, but the dark clearing again surrounded them and only the soft crackle of the now dim and dying fire could be heard in the cold night's air. He turned, grasping his companion's cloak in a fury of desperation.

"Gregory, you have to do it again! I think...I think she knew I was there."

"Of course she knew you were there. She's the Guildmaster of Vane. Sensing magic is second nature to her. Let's just hope she isn't too mad at the two of us. I didn't exactly use magic against another member of the Guild, but this was questionable at best. Eavesdropping is not considered especially polite, even for the best of causes."

_But when did she know? _he wondered. Was it before she spoke?_ "_I'm serious! You have to! She could be in trouble! Please!"

"Settle down, Nash. She's fine. She has an army of guards at her disposal and she's the most powerful magician in the world. Who is going to hurt her?"

He tried another approach, "She looked so sad."

"Probably because she's lonely. But remember that she sent you on this mission, so she'll just have to miss you for a few more days, all right? Besides, that little far-see just about exhausted me. I don't think I could cast a good fog right now, let alone a convincing illusion. I'm tired and I need to sleep."

Nash scowled like a child whose toy had been taken away.

Gregory laughed softly as he poked the fire with a heavy stick, tossing a handful of branches and a small log onto the it before laying down on his worn bedroll "By the way, son, proposing marriage to a woman in a mirage is neither appropriate nor very romantic, not to mention a tad futile."

Nash's mouth dropped open, "How did you—"

"One of the little side effects. I was there. I heard everything she said, just as you did. Now get some sleep." With that he slid into the warm blankets and closed his eyes.

If only that trip had ended the way Nash had intended, things in the present might not be so difficult. True, he and Gregory had ridden home as fast as they could, but what he found upon arrival turned all the dreams he'd had for a life with Mia into nightmares.

He didn't get another moment to dwell on that unpleasantness for a thudding knock on the door brought his thoughts back to reality. He'd dismissed the guards for the night—despite their objections. It was for the best, considering the compromise he'd made with Kyle.

Before supper had started, Kyle had insisted that he needed a few drinks and he needed the company of Nash and Alex. While neither of them were too excited to spend the evening watching Kyle drink himself into a stupor, Nash especially didn't want to do it in public. The local places would be swamped with clientele who were in town for the Festival and as the Heroes, they wouldn't get a moment of privacy. In an effort to be the peacekeeper, Alex had suggested the three of them spend some time after the women had gone to bed in Nash's suite. Kyle would bring the booze, and they would keep him company.

It seemed reasonable at the time, but now, it was just late and after the little display he had put on at supper, Nash really just wanted to go to bed and forget the whole miserable day. But promises were promises and Kyle arrived with a few bottles of wine. "Couldn't find any beer," he said, slipping past Nash with a smirk. "Must not be good enough for you mages."

"Where's Alex?"

"He'll be along shortly, I'm sure," Kyle answered, making his way into the sitting room.

"Great."

"That wasn't too enthusiastic, buddy."

Nash shut the door and followed his friend. "I'm not in the mood."

"You're not in the mood for much of anything these days." He looked around. "Nice place. How about some glasses?"

Nash frowned and went into his bedroom, returning a moment later with three wine glasses. "Just pour me half a glass—"

"I know, you're not in the mood," Kyle said, finishing his friend's sentence with a smirk.

Another knock came then, and Nash went to answer it. Alex gave a wave but before he could step through the door, a couple that was having a very loud argument in the corridor held the two Heroes' attention. Nash sighed and stepped into the hallway as Alex turned and watched as well. The mage knew what his friend was thinking just by the concern on his face—was the woman in trouble?

After a moment it became clear it was just a lover's quarrel and the woman wasn't in trouble—she was _making_ trouble. Just few doors up, a blonde man, dressed in the clothes of the Tribes, with green and black ribbons plaited into his hair held his hands up defensively as he spoke in a gentle voice to his angry female companion. She was a redhead, and the flush of rage on her cheeks nearly matched the bright color of her hair.

Nash's eyes narrowed as he watched them and he leaned against the doorframe. It might not have been his business, but it sure beat watching Kyle drink. So, for a brief respite of what awaited in his suite, he and Alex stood there, just observing this show.

An instant later, Kyle appeared behind his two friends to watch. "I don't know what she's saying, but that language makes everything sound sexy."

Nash sighed, seeing that Kyle had already poured himself a glass and nearly finished it. He listened as the couple continued their discussion in the middle of the corridor, translating the conversation in his mind.

"_I don't want to hear any more! I saw you touching that tramp in the stable yard!" _she said.

The man gave an exasperated sigh and slid his glasses up the bridge of his nose, oblivious to their audience_. "I was talking to her. I shook her hand and she patted my shoulder! It doesn't mean anything." _

"_It means plenty!"_

"_I was hoping to make an ally. I was trying to learn some things about this city so I could help you."_ He glanced nervously at a door as they passed it.

The woman spun around and poked a gloved finger on the man's chest. _"She was too friendly for an ally!" _

The blonde man looked back at the door that had held his interest a second ago as if expecting it to burst open. Lowering his voice, he said to the redhead, _"You're being angry and jealous for absolutely no reason! And, running Gravitt's horse straight for us and sliding him to a stop at the last second was a bit much."_

"_You know how Brutus can get away from you," _she answered, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked up into his eyes.

The man's tone was gentle as he reached to run his fingers through her hair._ "No horse gets away from you, Sabre, my love, unless you wish it to."_

Upon hearing the woman's name, Nash lifted his head, straightened up and looked at them intently. It couldn't be her, could it? Not after all these years? Sabre wasn't all that common a name for women on the Prairie, and the red hair, the ribbons...those were too many coincidences, weren't they? Still standing in paralyzed fascination and amazement, he watched as the man guided her into the room they had stopped in front of.

"Well, so much for that," Kyle said, almost disappointed that their amusement had sought another stage. "Now, it's time to have a few, boys."

Alex sighed. "Luna will kill me if—"

Kyle shrugged. "You get drunk? Then don't get drunk. Get happy."

Nash wasn't listening to their banter. He was still staring at the space left vacant by the couple and wondering how the hell that she could be here, alive, and _now_. Before he could even take a step towards the door she'd disappeared into, Kyle grabbed his sleeve.

"C'mon," the large man said. "We got better things to do than watch you stare at women. She doesn't seem like your type anyway."

But Nash didn't move. He was still considering all that had transpired in the last few moments. While Sabre definitely deserved to know he was alive, this wasn't the time or the place. He would need a strategy for that and a plan on what to say. It would be awkward, but he hoped it would at least be a happy reunion. Would she fault him for running from the Prairie? Would she condemn him for renouncing his name and his family? Would she hate him for not trying to find the men who'd taken her?

He shook his head, trying to fight off the questions and look for answers. He knew what she needed help with—it was the reason their mother had given him the map all those years ago. Rubbing his forehead, he considered what he could do for her. There wasn't much. Such magic was unheard of in Vane, although the Library would probably be a good start.

"I know you have a thing for little girls with ribbons in their hair," Kyle grinned, holding his glass over Nash's head. "But if you don't come along, I might be tempted to do something you won't like."

"Fine, Kyle," he said, giving one last glance at the door Sabre and her friend had entered. "I still don't know how I let you talk me into this."

"That's the Nash we all know and love," Kyle laughed as he put an arm around his friend and guided him back into the sitting room of the huge suite. "Time to drink!" he said, handing the other two glasses of wine.

Nash sniffed it and didn't bother to hide his disgust. Whatever Kyle had brought and was calling wine was cheap, rough, and smelled downright awful.

"To good times with friends," Kyle said, raising his glass to his friends. "And good times with beer…err…wine in this case!"

"At least the alcohol didn't come first," Nash said dryly as he tapped his glass to his friends'.

Alex winced at the taste. "What is this?"

"Nanza wine," Kyle answered. "Don't ask what it's made of. You don't want to know."

The chestnut-haired man gave a nod and set his glass down. "I'll trust you on that."

"So, you gonna tell us why you're living alone these days?" Kyle asked, turning to Nash.

Nash glanced up from his glass and gave an ineloquent, "Huh?"

"You heard me."

It really wasn't something Nash wanted to talk about, even among his closest friends. "Oh, no reason. I was living alone the last time you guys were here."

"You had your own room," Alex said. "But that didn't mean you lived there. We're not dumb. Something went wrong."

"Nothing went wrong. It's a privilege of my new office."

"Congratulations on that, by the way," Alex said, raising his glass.

"Thanks."

"Just don't get any ideas about taking over the world," Kyle said with a smirk. "Though honestly, I'd really enjoy kicking your ass."

"Kyle…" Alex said.

"It's all right," Nash sighed. "That's still a sore spot here in Vane."

Now halfway through his second glass, Kyle raised a brow. "I think there's another sore spot. If you had called Mia 'Majesty' one more time at supper, I was going to throw you out the window."

"Shut up," Nash said quietly, taking a long drink.

The brigand tapped his temple and winked at the two of them. "See, what I lack in ambition, I make up with intuition."

"You don't have to tell us," Alex said gently to Nash before shooting a look of warning to Kyle. "But we'll listen if you choose to do so."

"Well," Nash began, taking another sip of the potent wine. Deciding it might make him feel better to talk about some of it, he sighed before continuing. "Mia's been really obsessive, I guess, for awhile. Even before her mother died, but that just made it worse. I did what I could, but there were times she was completely irrational."

Kyle raised a brow. "Sounds like you ran away."

"No, no I didn't. I stood by her side the entire time—even when other members of the Faculty threatened to leave, demanded to know why we were wasting money on this or that, or even when some openly called her insane."

"I'm guessing those people wound up with a fireball up their backside," Kyle smirked.

"No," Nash said, shaking his head. "All it did was make her cry and force her to be even more determined to make Vane what it used to be."

"It never changed," Alex said quietly.

"No, it didn't, but of course she wouldn't hear that," Nash sighed, and then after another long drink continued his story. "Anyway, her favorite place in Vane was always the Library, so I took it upon myself to get that back the way she remembered it. I spent countless hours in there trying to figure out what we had, what we lost, what we needed to replace. I was pretty successful, too. I mean, Vane did have good records…but there was one set of books I tried to get by courier four times and just couldn't.

"I figured it wasn't too big of a deal. But Mia wanted them and insisted she had to have them. I guess I could see why—they were books on the magic of the Prairie Tribes and if we were going to be opening the Guild to everyone, well, maybe someone would find them useful. So, I promised her that once the weather was warm enough to travel, I would go get them. And I did."

"You went all the way to the Prairie?" Alex asked.

"Yes," Nash said, frowning. "Gregory and I went. It took nearly a week and a half to get there on horseback."

Kyle shook his head ruefully. "Still can't get over that you can manage to stay on a horse."

Nash shrugged. "We found the books and started home. I was sick of traveling, I missed Mia, and just wanted to ride straight through, but Gregory wouldn't hear it. We still shortened the trip by a few days, though." He ran a hand through his hair. "I had to get back because I knew Mia was going to finally ask me to marry her."

"How did you know that?" Alex asked.

"Gregory and I kind of spied on her. But…that's not what caused this mess," Nash said, staring down into his drink and watching the foul smelling liquid swirl against the glass.

Kyle leaned back into his chair. "I still don't understand why you just didn't ask her yourself. I mean, you two have been together for nearly five years and all."

"I'd hinted at it numerous times before but she always said Vane had to be rebuilt before she could worry about something like that."

"Why didn't you just ask her yourself instead of hinting at her?"

"You don't just walk up to the Guildmaster and ask her to marry you. It doesn't work like that. Not in Vane."

"But she didn't ask you, obviously," Alex said.

"No, she didn't. I intended to ride straight home and ask her myself, but something happened."

"What was it?"

"Gregory and I got home just after midnight and I ran straight to her room. I wanted to wake her up, let her know that I was home, and tell her that I'd be honored to be her husband. But…"

"But?"

Nash finished his glass and set it down deliberately before looking at both his friends, his dark eyes reflecting all of the anger and despair from the past few months. "Mia made her bed, and I just don't want to sleep in it anymore."


	6. Chapter Five

_**Rise from Ashes**_  
**Chapter Five **

**_

* * *

_**  
Nash hadn't slept at all.

He had spent a good few hours talking with Alex and Kyle the night before and while it made him feel a little better to get certain things off his chest, it didn't offer any resolution beyond what he knew he had to do. But that wasn't what wouldn't let his mind find rest. No, that honor was all given to Sabre. It had to be her, but what was she doing here, and why now? Who was that man she was with? And how was she staying in the rooms reserved for Mia's special guests?

After his friends had left, he'd opened the door to his suite to just stare at her room across the hall and contemplate what and how to approach her. Here, in the Guild? Somewhere else? It wasn't a question of if he would—he knew he had to—it was only right. She deserved to know he was alive and all that had happened to him over the past twelve years. He just hoped she'd understand why he left the Prairie and never looked back.

Since sleep wasn't cooperating with him, he camped out in his sitting room most of the night, pretending to read a book. He'd stare at the words, turn the page, but never really comprehend what was written. It was impossible to concentrate and he didn't even bother to really try. Sabre, Mia, his inauguration, that jackass Orinth, and even the Festival all swirled through his mind and simply jumbled any thoughts he had into an anxious dance, one he knew he had to join, despite not knowing the steps.

When the first light of dawn broke through his windows, he quickly combed his hair into place and decided to find some breakfast. The kitchen would just be opening at this hour, which meant the odds of getting in and out fast without having to engage anyone in small talk were pretty good. He made his way down the hall, to the atrium, and as he began to descend the flying staircase, he spotted Sabre heading out of the Guild Manor.

Figuring now would be a good chance to catch her, while she was alone and the Guild was quiet, he followed. Breakfast would have to wait. He stayed a good distance behind as he collected his thoughts as she led him out of the square, down the main street of the city and towards the stables between the two magnificent walls.

* * *

Sabre was certain there was a word in the common language to describe the timid, young magician who was trying to lead a very spirited horse, but she couldn't think of it at the moment. In Tribal, the word would've been _tobario_, literally meaning "dry fish" with the connotation that the fish could not survive out of water. The mare had leapt into the air at the first instant her stall door had been opened and she was nearly dragging her reluctant handler down the aisle towards the barn door. He kept talking to her, "Easy, girl. I know, you're tired of not being ridden. I know. You're tired of your stall. You're going out. Just a little further. Please be good, girl." But the horse wasn't listening. Each step he took, she took three—one forward and two up.

The unfortunate boy couldn't have been older than thirteen, short and skinny, with black hair, and dressed in the impractical long tunics Sabre had seen most of the students wearing. His shoes were what held her attention the longest, though. They were far too thin to sustain the inevitable stomp and lacked a heel for riding.

The mare had near perfect conformation, plenty of energy, and exceptional grace despite her lack of proper handling. She was just a bit under sixteen hands, with a golden coat, white mane and tail, a crooked stripe on her nose, and only two white socks. The two of them were not a good combination and the longer Sabre watched this catastrophe in the making, she knew she had to step in and help the young man.

"Need a hand?" she asked the boy as the mare once again lifted her front legs up a good foot and threatened to jerk the boy from the ground.

"I'm that bad at this?" the boy asked, a smile behind the defeated words as the horse pranced again.

Sabre touched a hand to the mare's nose, letting the horse take in her scent before rubbing the animal's lip with her palm. In that instant, the horse relaxed. "Let's just say I've seen better."

His eyes widened as he watched her hold the horse still just petting the mare's muzzle. "Was that a Prairie trick?"

"I guess you could call it that," she said, taking the horse's lead and seeing that the mare's leather halter bore the golden seal of the House of Ausa. She wasn't surprised the Guildmaster would own such a magnificent animal, but she was wondering if the horse saw any use beyond filling a stall and looking pretty. "I just let her smell me and then gave her a rub. Their muzzles are very sensitive, and you can distract them by doing that."

"It calmed her."

"For the time being," Sabre said, and not a second later, the horse tried to bolt forward again. She gave a firm jerk on the lead and said, "_Mazito_!"

The horse froze in her tracks and, when she was calm, Sabre pet the mare on the forelock.

"What did you say to her?" the boy asked.

"_Mazito_. It means 'stop' in Tribal. I can tell this horse is from the Prairie without even looking in her mouth. That means Tribesmen trained her. Use that when you talk to her and want her to be still."

"What do you mean, without looking in her mouth?"

"For a stable boy, you don't know too much about horses," she teased.

He brushed his bangs from his dark eyes. "I know. I'm trying to learn. My family has always lived in Vane and we never had horses until after the Fall. I really want to learn to ride, though. Even more so than learning magic."

"Well, then I will show you something else." She lifted the mare's lip and showed the boy a mark inside. "She has been tattooed by a Tribe. That is how we trace bloodlines." Pointing to one of the marks, she said, "That's the symbol of the _Alichareldo_ line, one of the oldest, most sought bloodlines of the Prairie. Horses in this line are known for their speed, stamina, and beauty." Letting the horse's lip down, she added, "She is a very expensive horse, especially being a mare, and in one of the rarest colors. She will produce strong foals and she is young enough that she can have many in the future."

"Oh," the boy answered, reaching to pat the horse. The mare snorted at him and he backed away.

"Don't show fear," Sabre told him. "She can smell it on you. She must respect you if she is going to let you handle her."

"I'll remember that," the young man sighed, walking ahead. "Will you help me put her out today, though?"

"Sure. Just show me where."

He guided them to large corral just outside of the barn and Sabre led the horse in, turned her around and let her go. The mare bolted for the far end, then spun on her rear legs and raced back towards them.

The boy jumped behind Sabre, but she just calmly backed out of the gate and latched it. "She won't hurt you. Not intentionally, anyway. She's just happy to be out."

And with that, the horse made another lap.

"Thank you," the boy said. "Oh, by the way, my name is Kant. I really appreciate it."

She offered her hand. "Sabre. Nice to meet you."

"I should get back to work," he smiled, giving her a quick handshake. "But if you need anything while you're visiting—you're visiting, right?"

She nodded.

"If you need anything, let me know. I may be useless around horses, but I'm pretty good around the Library or the Kitchen."

"Thank you," Sabre smiled at him. "You will learn about horses. If you want to learn, then you are already ahead of most Vanetians I've met."

"Good to know," he said with a grin as he gave a wave and trotted off.

Sabre leaned on the corral fence and watched the horse run, letting her thoughts race along with the animal. The fight she'd had last night with Brinson had been trivial, but it had opened doors for her, doors she wasn't sure she was ready to walk through. It was exciting and yet frightening at the same time to think that after all this time things could change. Although she hated her master, she feared the unknown that came with the idea of running away. Where would they go? How would they survive? Would Gravitt ever find them?

She would always put her faith in Brinson and he was the one person in the entire world she actually trusted. They'd been together so long that she couldn't imagine being without him, and though the idea of heading into the unknown was daunting, with him at her side she knew it would be all right. It always amazed her to think that what they had started years ago as a friendship between two children and evolved into something much deeper.

Over the years, he'd told her he loved her countless times, and she had gladly returned the words, but there was always a lingering doubt in her mind that he could have done better. He deserved a woman he could touch, and not just with gloves. He deserved a woman who could fulfill her duty as a Tribeswoman and give him children. He deserved someone _normal_.

Normal. It was something she'd wished for since childhood. But now she wanted it not just for herself, but for Tristan as well. What if he had inherited her awful curse? She'd rather him have his father's immunity, or nothing at all, than the problems she faced with her own. Perhaps the mages of Vane would be too late to help her, but she prayed that he was still young enough that they could aid him. Of course, that was assuming Brinson's information was true and the mages were now willing to admit anyone into their precious Guild.

Still lost in her thoughts as she watched the horse race around the corral, she didn't notice when one of those very mages she was hoping to ask for assistance appeared at her side. She only realized that he was there when he spoke, a smirk on his lips that made her most uncomfortable.

"That mare may blush if you keep staring at her."

Upon hearing his voice, she nearly jumped and quickly took a step away from him. "She is beautiful, and a fine mover. Her gait must be very easy to ride."

"It is," he answered, smiling at her as he leaned on the corral, beckoning the horse with a clucking sound.

"She is yours?" she asked, watching him more cautiously than the approaching horse.

He nodded as he held his palm flat and let the horse rub her muzzle on it. "A gift from Mia Ausa herself."

"I didn't think mages would bother to learn to ride." She kept a wary eye on him, but decided he was more of an annoyance than a threat. "You must be important, then, to have Vane's Guildmaster buying you a prize horse. How nice for you."

"You could say that," he answered, giving the mare a firm pat on the neck.

She snorted, giving him a glare of irritation. "I am saying it. But if you're so important, why are you bothering me?"

"Not too many people are up this time of day. I was just making conversation."

She glared and was careful to keep the horse's head between them. Threat or not, he seemed far too interested in her to just be making casual conversation. "What's her name?"

"I didn't give her one." The horse snorted, spraying his shirt with a thick layer of snot. He frowned, but still gave the mare a good rub on the forelock.

"It seems she doesn't like not having a name. An unnamed horse is the worst kind of bad luck on the Prairie, you know."

"Do you have a suggestion for a name for her? I can't afford much more bad luck."

"I think that's the worst pick-up line I've ever heard," she said, her eyes narrowing at him as the horse trotted away. "I thought you mages were supposed to be smart and poetic."

He laughed. "It's not a pick-up line, Sabre."

"How do you know my name?" she asked as she pulled a glove off, just in case. She hated to think that she underestimated this idiot.

"I'm surprised you still don't recognize me," he said, still smiling as he leaned on the corral again.

She let the glove drop to the ground. "Should I?"

"I'd like to think so."

"I don't know any Vanetians. I've never been to this side of the world, and honestly, I don't care for it." She took a step back, crossed her arms over her chest, and glowered at him. "Tell me how you know my name."

"It was just a guess," he said, giving her a wink. "You haven't changed a bit."

"A guess? Is this how you mages try to get a woman's attention? Follow her around, ask stupid questions, and try to guess her name?"

He brushed his bangs out of his face and continued to smile at her. "Not usually, but I'm willing to make an exception in this case."

"I'm not interested."

"That's too bad."

"For you, you mean," she snapped.

"No, for you, _dinathia_."

Sabre gasped at the last word he'd spoken. _Dinathia_. Elder sister. She covered her mouth in shock as she stared in stunned surprise at this man. No. It couldn't be. Her brother was dead! She saw the fire in their tent as the men dragged her away that night. She knew he was still inside, probably suffocating from the smoke. She knew she'd knocked him out when he'd touched her and that she'd left him to that awful fate. Besides, he'd never wind up all the way around the world dressed in the robes of a magician, would he?

But looking at him closer now, perhaps, maybe. She lowered her hands from her mouth and examined him guardedly. He did look a bit like her father—the same dark, gentle eyes, the same auburn hair, the same impish grin—could it really be? Though her mind was racing, she managed to recall what her mother had said once, "There's a curse on this family-all of our men look the same." With that memory in her heart, a tiny bit of hope escaped her lips and manifested as the nickname she'd given him two decades ago. "Ashu?"

He nodded and answered quietly, "It's me, Sabre."

Without a second thought she threw her arms around him and drew him into an embrace, forgetting her deadly gift and the mess on his shirt. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but tears of joy that had started to trickle down her face. Ashu held her there, not saying anything until the sound of clanking armor approached.

She turned around to see four men that wore the uniforms of the guards had surrounded them. A dark haired man, taller than the rest, gave her brother a salute and then spoke. "Master Nash, while Master Alastair realizes he cannot force you to keep us on duty at your quarters, he is adamant that any time you are out of your rooms we are to be with you. There are far too many unknown people in the city right now. I hope you can appreciate his position on this matter."

"Nash?" Sabre whispered. She knew the name. _Everyone_ knew the name. Her eyes widened as she looked at her brother in sheer amazement for the second time in less than five minutes.

"I really don't need your protection," Nash answered the man. Then, giving a slight nod to Sabre he said in their first language, "When we are alone, I will explain."

Sabre smiled, her eyes still damp as they filled with pride. Her brother was not only alive, but one of the Heroes! Their parents would be so proud! She hoped they knew, wherever they were.

The dark haired guard gave a flat reply. "Master Alastair said if you don't cooperate with us, he would gladly stand by your side himself."

Nash rubbed his forehead as a frown of aggravation crossed his lips. "Very well, gentlemen. I was just heading back there now." He smiled at Sabre, but she could sense he was nervous. "C'mon. We'll have some shadows until we're back at my room. Hope you don't mind."

Sabre nodded, noticing that all of the guards' eyes fell on her. She could feel them questioning, judging, even though they dared not ask who she was and what Nash wanted with her. She didn't have long to swallow that uncomfortable feeling because Ashu put his hand on her back and handed her the glove she'd dropped earlier. She pulled it on and let him lead her back towards the Manor, the four guards flanking both of them.

She tried to ignore the stares as Ashu led her and the guards back to the Manor and up to the fifth floor. Though the halls were quiet, those that they passed couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the small entourage. When they finally arrived at their destination, her brother put a key in the door and quickly dismissed the guards.

Although Ashu's room was just down the hall from hers, it was certainly of a higher caliber than even the special quarters she had been given. The doors to the suite itself were covered in gold leaf proclaiming the angelic symbol of the House of Ausa. She looked at him and teased, "Maybe you're not lying about being important-or maybe you're just sleeping with somebody that is!"

He glared at her, in almost a way that told he was offended, but then shook his head and smiled as he pushed the door open. Once inside the foyer, he opened another door guided her into the sitting room. "I need to change," he said, gesturing to the snot the horse had left on his shirt. "But have a seat."

"Don't bother changing, Ashu," she said. "We have so much to talk about. I won't hold it against you that your horse is upset you didn't name her."

"All right. But at least let me get someone to bring us breakfast. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

She nodded and watched him leave, only to return a few moments later.

"Food is on its way," he announced, sitting in the chair next to her and grinning. "So. Where should we start? I want to know how you've been, what you've been up to these past twelve years, and what you're doing in Vane now."

"The beginning is always best, but knowing that you have lived up to the name our parents gave you is most important to me, Ashu. That's really all I needed to know about you." She smiled at him proudly again, knowing that in fulfilling his name, he had shown their parents the utmost honor.

"I don't know about that," he said, looking down at the lush carpet and letting his eyes trace the patterns. "There are a lot of things I've done that I'm not proud of, Sabre."

She reached over and touched his arm. "Everyone makes mistakes. I don't want to hear about yours because they can't be any worse than mine. I know mother and father would be pleased to know how you helped save us all."

He sighed and nervously scratched the back of his neck. "But I left you there, Sabre."

"You didn't leave me. The Setin took me," she answered, the memory of that horrific night still fresh in her mind decades later. The smell of the fire, the sound of blades screeching against blades, the horses whinnying in terror, the cries of men as they rushed into battle—it was so raw, so real. "They wanted both of us, but I told them you were dead. I told them you were Kuna. He was there, lying on the ground. They had killed him."

"Poor Kuna," Ashu said. "I found him the next morning. I saw them all. I couldn't give any of them a proper burial."

"No one expected you to. But how did you make it out? I thought for sure my touch and the fire had killed you."

"When I covered your mouth, you put me to sleep. When I woke up, the tent was full of smoke and the fire was spreading. So I called the Storms. I called them, and they put the fire out. Then, I realized I was alone in the world. I wasn't sure what to do, so I followed Mother's map. It brought me to Vane."

"You made it here alone?"

"Almost. I met Gregory in Reza. He helped me."

"Gregory?"

"Gregory Telka," he said. "He's an Illusionist. I'll be sure to introduce you to him. He knows everything—even speaks our language."

"A Vanetian that knows Tribal?"

"He travels a lot," Ashu said, his eyes distant. She could tell there was more he wanted to say about his friend Gregory, but instead he changed the subject. "What did the Setin want with you?"

She answered, trying to hold the bitterness on her tongue in check. "They had already stolen the Fire Child and the Water Child from their Tribes. They wanted to sell us. They said we could be useful as weapons."

"You're a slave, Sabre?" Ashu's voice was gentle, but she could see anger flashing in his dark eyes.

She had to lie to him. If he knew that Gravitt technically owned her, he'd try to do something noble—something that would probably get them both killed. "No. I ran away. I ran away with Brinson." She grimaced. "The Setin got him right after me. But they didn't have to fight for him. His parents decided he was too dangerous and just gave him up."

"Too dangerous?"

"He's the Quake Child, from the Tramonto tribe."

"Your lover," Ashu said with a smile. "I heard what he called you in the hallway last night."

Her words were quiet, despondent. "As much of one as I can have, yes."

He looked down at the cuff of his shirt and tugged on it. "At least our parents put up a fight."

"Maybe they shouldn't have. Hundreds of people died that night because of us, Ashu. Doesn't that bother you?"

A knock came on the door before he could answer her and he stepped away. She shook her head as she considered if this was really the best discussion to have with him now. There were so many happy things they could talk about! She wanted to hear about his adventures with the Dragonmaster and find out if the stories in the minstrel tales were true.

He carried a tray back into the room and set it down on the coffee table. A large array of fruits, muffins, and cured meats were deliberately arranged on two plates and a small tea service was in the center. Ashu placed one of the plates in front of her and then poured two cups of tea.

She smiled, having never seen such exquisite food, much less touched fine china. "Are we supposed to eat that or just look at it?" she teased.

"I think the apprentices are trying to impress me," he said, taking a bite of some of the fruit on his plate. After a moment, he sighed. "And to answer your question, that does bother me. It bothers me a lot. But our parents held firm to their beliefs to protect their children at all costs and they did. I have to remember them that way."

She nodded, tasting some of the meat. The spices were flavorful, but unfamiliar to her and without thinking, she said something she immediately regretted. "I know. I would do the same for my son. But I'm still "

"You have a child?" he asked, his tone bordering on incredulity as he nearly dropped the piece of fruit he was about to eat. "Sabre, forgive me, but how is that possible?"

Sabre closed her eyes in disgust with herself. She would have to lie to Ashu and decided to use the tale Gravitt had instructed her to accept before they'd arrived in Vane. As much as claiming her master as blood repulsed her, it was the easiest thing to do for Ashu's sake. "My husband was completely immune to all magic."

"Was?"

"He's dead."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be," she said, being sure to look away from him so he couldn't see the lies reflecting in her eyes. "It was more of a business arrangement than a marriage. Hell, it didn't even last long enough to be called either. You don't need to feel sorry, there was little love lost when he decided he'd rather be dead than married to me."

There was a profound sorrow in Ashu's eyes as he said, "You mean you married him but you didn't even love him? What about Brinson?"

Sabre hesitated, the lies tasting foul on her tongue. "Brinson went back to his Tribe for a few years and I didn't want to go with him. I figured they wouldn't accept me—being The Death Child and all. And I guess on some level I loved my husband but I don't think he cared for me much, though. Adventuring was his first love, horses were his second, so at best I was a distant third. I knew that from the beginning."

"That's horrible, Sabre. I just can't imagine—"

She cut him off with cold shrug, refusing the reassuring hand he'd tried to put on her shoulder. Lying to her brother—even for his own good—was disgusting her. "When you're like me, you take what you can get."

Ashu gave her gentle look as he took another bite of his breakfast. "What was his name? Was he from the Prairie?"

"Maverett, and no, he was from Briggatt."

"Related to a man named Gravitt from that city?" Ashu asked.

She nodded. "They were brothers."

"So that's why you're here and staying in one of the rooms Mia reserved for her special guests. You do know Gravitt was one of our greatest benefactors, right?"

"I know," she said darkly. She wasn't going to tell Ashu where that money came from and how she helped acquire it. And now that he'd realized she was tied to Gravitt, she sure as hell didn't want him to let anyone know of their relation. Her master would exploit that to the fullest extent and that wasn't something she would wish on Ashu.

"Something wrong, Sabre?"

"No," she said. "But does anyone here besides that Gregory man you mentioned know who you are? The Storm Child of the Prairie?"

He shook his head. "No, but I intend to tell Mia before my inauguration on Saturday. She deserves to know the truth about the man she's named as Premier of the Guild. It's only right."

Sabre smiled. "You really have lived up to your name, but I think you should keep our relation to yourself."

"Why's that?"

"It would be the best. I mean, remember when our parents took us to Tamur? The mage there laughed when Mother begged him to help her take me to Vane."

"I remember," he whispered.

"And look at you, Ashu! You don't even use your real name, you don't wear your ribbons, and you pretend to live as someone else."

"I know that, but we are opening the Guild to all. You're welcome to stay here, Sabre."

She shook her head sadly. "I know, but ask yourself Ashu, will Vane accept you for who you really are? Would someone here exploit the truth for their own ends? Your citizens might accept it but there are plenty of visitors who might try to harm you, or your Guildmaster."

"Or you?" he asked with a raised brow. "Are you afraid of something, Sabre?"

"No, I'm not, but just trust me when I say that you mustn't let Gravitt near anything or anyone you treasure."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means trouble follows him."

"Yet you travel with him."

"I don't have a choice," she said, meeting his eyes. "If I want to see my son, I do not have a choice, Ashu."

"He holds the boy ransom?"

She rubbed her brow, hoping she had not said too much. "Something like that."

"Sabre, if you're in danger, I can help you."

"I'm not in danger, but thank you for the concern." She stood up and gave him a smile. "Thank you for breakfast. I hope we'll get to see more of each other, Ashu. I'm sure this Festival is going to keep you busy, but if you can sneak away for an hour or two, maybe we could go for a ride."

"If you give me a few minutes to clean up, I should be able to go now," he said. "I can probably convince the guards not to come if we are traveling on horseback. Most of them are novices at riding."

She gave a nod and a proud smile at him. "I'll go check and see if Brinson can watch Tristan for a bit, then."

"Is that your son's name?"

"I wanted to name him after Father, or you, but my husband didn't want a Tribal name for his son."

"You'll let me meet him, right?"

"Of course."

"How old is he?"

"He'll be five in July."

"Is he like you?"

She shook her head and smiled. "No, thankfully I think he's inherited his father's immunity. It's still a little too early to be sure, though."

"At least let me help you with your magic and his," Ashu said with a smile. "It's the least I can do. Between the Library, my staff, and the healers here, there has to be something that can be done."

"Thank you, Ashu," she said, giving him a quick hug. "But promise you'll just introduce me as your friend. I don't want to bring any unnecessary trouble for you."

"If that's what you want, I will," he said as she stepped away towards the door. "But before the end of the week, I will tell Mia the truth."

She glanced over her shoulder. "By the end of the week I'll be gone, so it won't matter, Ashu."


	7. Chapter Six

**_Rise from Ashes  
_Chapter Six**

**

* * *

**

Mia pulled at her dress as she stood in front of the large mirror that reflected most of her room. It certainly wasn't one of her normal garments these days—it was far less fancy, almost plain, and maybe just a bit too tight in some places. The lavender uniform had been well stored and even the blue embroidery on the cuffs of the sleeves and the hem had been carefully preserved. She adjusted the white shoulder scarf, and sighed as she straightened it in the glass. The dress didn't give her much of a figure, but it was the outfit that had kept Nash's attention all those years ago. He had told her once that it was one of his favorite things to see her in. Why this was he never did say, but perhaps he was drawn to wonder just what lurked under the simple and unflattering dress.

Finally content with her ensemble she said a silent prayer that this time, he'd listen and accept the apology. It wasn't like she hadn't tried before! The first attempt had come that morning after the storm, and many times since then. But every time she would go to him and beg for forgiveness, in place of the man she loved, all she would find was the statue that lived and breathed as Nash.

She started for the door, but something made her stop. There was one more thing she had to wear—just in case they would reconcile in the way Jessica had suggested. She walked to her vanity, and opened the jewelry box atop of it, taking out a small necklace. The small charm sat well on her neck, but no matter how hard she tried it would not hide itself under the neckline of the dress. She frowned, knowing Nash might not appreciate the jewelry. It was one of those little things in their former relationship that he would constantly gripe about. At first he understood the necessity for it—neither of them were ready for the consequences of her _not_ wearing it. But, as time went on, he grew more resentful every time he looked at it. Was he not good enough? Or was her place as Guildmaster more important to her then he was, or a family? The questions were as sour in her mind now as they were when he had first asked them all those years ago.

Though many nights had passed since she last wore the tiny trinket, the memories that went with it were still crisp in her mind. As her fingers closed around it, she frowned at one recollection in particular—that most horrible night when she lost her closest friend to circumstances she still didn't quite comprehend.

Mia wasn't sure what time it was when she finally awoke that dreadful March morning. Everything seemed so dark and still, even the violet bed curtains hung somberly around her. She sat up and realized her head hurt. It was a dull, aching pain that extended into her limbs, and caused her stomach to feel queasy. Whatever had happened the night before was a dim blur at the moment, but a twinkling of her dream—a dream so real and so long desired—tickled her and made her smile for a moment. Then a motion on the other side of the drapes made her hold her breath for an instant and she realized that at least some of it had been more than just a mirage.

The night before, she had settled into her sitting room with a book. It was a novel she'd read countless times, but she knew it would provide a pleasant distraction until Nash returned and she could finally ask him the question that had been burning in her heart for days. She smiled as she thought of how she would ask him to marry her. There were so many possibilities, but it only seemed right to do it on her balcony, under the Blue Star. They'd often sit there and talk about the changes and dreams she had for the Guild, the delicate rays of light providing a sort of ethereal guidance to both of them. As she daydreamed of her proposal, she had barely heard the guards telling her that she had a visitor.

Orinth had come in then, carrying some books from his family's private collection that he thought she'd enjoy. Though he and Nash did not get along at all, he would often stop by when he knew her to be alone and they would just talk. She poured some tea for them, looked over the books, and then told her friend the good news. He had seemed happy for her, and raised his tea to her cup in a toast. They laughed, and he had offered to find some wine to properly celebrate but she declined. After talking a bit more and finishing off the pot of tea, she said she needed to go to bed because it was getting late. He gave a bow, reached for her hand and kissed it.

And that's when the dream started to feel real.

Somehow, Orinth had left the room and she found herself standing on her balcony—the same balcony she'd sensed Nash on only a few nights ago. But now Nash was there, right behind her, letting his hands wander along her arms as he tenderly kissed her cheek. She had turned to face him and smiled seeing how well dressed he was—he must have cleaned up before coming to see her. He had taken her into his arms, held onto her gently, but with an unexpected determination that said he wasn't going to let her go. She whispered her proposal into his ear, sprinkling the words with kisses on his neck. He stepped back just enough to admire her, and to smile as his face beamed in ecstatic shock. He didn't need to say anything. She knew the answer. It came as an ardent kiss, then another as he lifted her around the waist and carried her into her bedroom. He set her down, not daring to take his lips from her skin as he worked to relieve her of her dress. The instant it felt to the floor, she leaned back on the bed, desperately pulling him with her, and the next thing she knew they were making love.

It was all too perfect, too simple. There were no words spoken, yet his "yes' seemed to echo within her ears. Did she actually hear him say that? Did she feel it? Somehow, she didn't care, and knew it didn't matter.

Her hand gripped the soft velvet curtain, ready to push it back and gaze affectionately at her soon to be husband. Oh, that word sounded so wonderful now! How could she have been afraid of it for so long?

She pulled the drapes aside and looked over to the shape they had hidden. With sudden and terrifying shock, she realized it wasn't Nash standing there, but Orinth, straightening his robe in her mirror. What had happened? Where was Nash? Her old friend just looked up at her reflection behind him and shook his head, as though disappointed somehow. It was only then that she noticed the shattered glass of her skylight lying in the center of the room, the shards piercing the carpet in a strange, serrated pattern.

Confusion slapped her back into reality and she asked, "What happened?"

His expression was deadpan, and he didn't bother to turn around as he gave the succinct response. "We had a storm last night."

"A storm?"

He still hadn't faced her and was still delivering the words through his mirror image. "Yes. And I don't thinking it was a natural one, either. I looked from the balcony and some of the buildings seem to be quite damaged."

Nothing was right, her entire world seemed to tilt on its side and she had a terrible feeling she had done something she would regret, but the details were so unclear and her head hurt so much. She sat on one of the chairs in the room, drawing her legs up underneath her nightgown, and called to her friend. "Orinth?"

He _still _wouldn't turn to face her. "Yes, Majesty?"

She pushed the words out, dreading the response. "What are you doing here? Where's Nash?"

This time he spun and glared at her. "You have to ask? I find it rather insulting that you don't remember." Raising a brow at her, he added, "Nash is not here, but I'll wager my family's fortune that the storm was his doing."

She gasped as her stomach twisted at the thought of what had transpired between her and Orinth. One questions attacked her with such force that she wrapped her arms around her waist to deflect it. What would become of the perfect picture she had painted for her and Nash now that she had betrayed him?

He gave a quick bow as she sat there, her lips pursed in self-disgust. With a few strides he made it to the door and stepped out, leaving her with only one sentence: "I will bid you good day, Majesty, and I'll thank you to _never_ call me by that jackass's name again."

Those few words confirmed it up for her. Her breath shriveled inside of her chest, as the tears started streaking down her cheeks. Suddenly her queasiness turned to heaves and a trembling hand slammed over her mouth. She dashed into the bathroom and threw up into the polished sink.

Sweat dripped off her forehead as she brushed her bangs out of her face and looked in the mirror. The woman in the glass repulsed her beyond words. How could she have let this happen! She would lose Nash now, and she knew it! He had warned her many times about Orinth but she had just dismissed them as jealousy. But now? And how had it happened? She was certain she was with Nash last night—she knew his touch, his scent, the way he knew _exactly_ where she liked to be kissed. She remembered those details from their encounter the night before, so how could she have awakened to find Orinth in her room?

Desperate to remove the atrocious feeling of infidelity and to clean away the stain she knew covered her, she turned on the shower and jumped in, nightgown and all. She sat on the tiles, tucking her knees to her chin like a child and letting the water wash away the tears and that horrible realization that she had just committed the most unspeakable kind of treachery against the man that she loved.

Suddenly anger filled her. How had it happened? How could she have lost control so badly? Orinth hadn't cast a spell on her, she knew that, would have felt that, right? But why would she be so willing otherwise? Orinth knew her feelings for Nash, and while the two of them were notorious rivals, neither would harm _her_. Maybe there had been something in the tea that impaired her judgment? But that couldn't be, it was tea she had prepared herself and she never saw Orinth put anything in it. He wouldn't do that anyway. She knew him well enough to know that if he'd wanted to try and seduce her, his ego wouldn't allow him to have any help.

Her black curls were weighted down by the water and clung to her neck and back as understanding hit her harder than Ghaleon's spells ever could. He hadn't tricked her. He hadn't cast a spell on her. He hadn't drugged her. It was entirely her fault. She had just believed what she wanted to believe.

The nightgown stuck to her like guilt as she reached and turned the shower off. Her stomach churned as her tiny hand gripped the cold tiles for some kind of slippery support as she rose. After taking several deep breaths she shed the sodden nightgown and, she prayed, her memories of this night.

A plan was already forming in her head. It would be simple, but she would have to act quickly. She would talk with Orinth first. As a long time friend, she would ask him to keep this private. If that didn't work, she would order him to maintain his silence as a member of the Guild. It may have been a slight abuse of her power, but one that was necessary. The guards would not be a problem, either. Alastair had told her years ago that they were sworn to secrecy. They would not dare sully the image of their Guildmaster by spreading the word that anyone went into her room and stayed the night. She touched a hand to her neck and with a sigh of relief found the most important piece to the puzzle still hanging there and a single thought lilt into her mind. _At least I can't be pregnant, thank the Goddess…_

Mia dressed herself quickly, choosing a comfortable, but appealing bright green robe from her closet. As she pulled it on, an eerie feeling passed through her. The walls seemed to gawk as if they were reviling and judging her. The broken skylight glared, the fireplace roared, the windows sang, and the furniture just stared at her in a way that made her more than agitated. She fixed her hair without using the mirror and with a newfound determination and urgency to settle the entire matter, took a deep breath and decided to head for the Library.

The Library of Vane—to Mia, it was the single most important part of the city. Even as a child, she hid from the world in the books and maps of the place, learning and dreaming of lands far away. It had always been one of the few places she felt she could meditate, concentrate, and reflect-and right now that was what she needed to do more than anything. She wanted to make sure all of her bases were covered, but more importantly, she wanted to contemplate exactly what to say to Orinth, and if anything, to Nash.

It must have been fate, karma, or some other strange force seeking retribution on her, but the second she opened one of the doors to the Library, she saw the one person she certainly didn't expect, nor was prepared to deal with.

Nash was standing at one of the stacks with his back to her. She knew he heard the door close because his head lifted up at the sound, but he didn't even turn around to acknowledge the entrant. Her eyes walked over him and she gasped at his grubby appearance. His robe was dirty and torn and his hair was matted and crusted with mud. She wondered just how long he'd been home. Surely if it had been last night he would have at least cleaned himself up before going out in public. But something nagged at her. Why hadn't he come by yet? Did he just get in? Even then, he would have come right to her room.

_Did he know?_ Dread echoed inside of her, but she wouldn't let it have the satisfaction of resound. She trotted up to him, threw her arms around his waist from behind, and said so cheerfully that she surprised herself, "You're back! Oh, thank Althena you're back! And three days early!"

He stood perfectly still as she embraced him. She felt his muscles tighten, but he did not return her affections, nor did he turn around. He stepped away from her and with a voice full of ice said, "I have just put your books away, Majesty. They came at a higher price than I think you intended."

She stared at him. He had never been so formal with her before, and his appearance was ghastly. Pushing her way around to face him, she saw he hadn't shaved in at least three days, and his eyes were distant, as if transfixed on some far off tome. She flinched at the sight of him, a dead hollowness growing in her heart as fear began dancing in her soul. Then, for the first time since she had known him, she read him, reaching out with her magic to see if she could learn what his had endured. Had he been in combat? Wounded? She touched his aura, and felt _nothing_, as though every bit of power within him had been drained, and recently.

His expression remained neutral, and he stood perfectly still as she sensed him, but his tone implied he was annoyed by the intrusion. "What are you looking for, Majesty? I caused that storm last night. I will save you the trouble of investigating the matter further, and plan to do what I can to make restitution." He paused and then added: "I admit this because I realize that I was gone for quite awhile and that you might have forgotten what my magic feels like."

The horror that he might just know what had happened throttled her as he distanced himself another few paces. "Nash," she called to him gently, as if just speaking his name would draw him back to her.

He bowed. "Always your Majesty's humble servant."

"I...did…did someone say something to you, about… about me?" she asked, stammering through the simple sentence.

"I have heard nothing, and I have only spoken with Gregory since leaving the Prairie."

She tried a different approach. "You seem upset and distant, Nash."

The wall he had built around himself didn't even crack. "I am not distant, nor am I upset. Just a little tired, I guess. We rode for six straight days to get back. I was tired of the Prairie."

Perhaps he didn't know and really was just exhausted. But then, why use magic to create a storm against their home? She fought to ignore that question and decided to play along with his insistence that he was just fatigued from travel. "If you're tired, maybe you should go to our room and rest?" she said, reaching for his hand.

He jerked his arm away from her and as he spoke, rage flashed in his eyes. "I'd prefer to get some sleep, rather than serve as your Majesty's entertainment. Perhaps you should consider doing the same—getting rest that is. I gather you were _quite_ busy while I was gone. "

He knew. She didn't know how, but damn it, he knew. She stared at him for a moment, trying to find words that wouldn't sound trite.

She didn't expect him to reach towards her, and her eyes followed his hand as it grasped the charm around her neck. He turned it over, his dark eyes holding a intense and reminiscent sadness, and then finally with a slight shake of his head, he let it go. His eyes met hers then, but they were sullen. His voice was detached as he spoke, the words almost as painful as the tone in which he delivered them. "What truly brought you here, Majesty? Did you need something to read? Or were you just feeling lonely? It is obvious that your sheets are not warm enough on these cold nights. Is that true? Were you only looking for a friend to keep you _engaged_ for the evening? If that's the case, may I suggest you look for one in the tavern in Dunart? Those men normally don't have fancy names, usually don't bother asking for yours, and don't come with as much embarrassment as those who are members of the Guild."

Regardless of what she had done, his statement and the implications of it infuriated her. True, she had wronged him but she certainly wasn't a tramp! Her instinct was to slap him across the face and she felt her hand go up as her lips pursed themselves in anger and spat at him, "How dare you!"

She didn't expect him to be ready for it. A mere nanosecond before her palm was to smack his cheek, he grabbed her wrist firmly and pulled it away. As he held her limb captive, he said between clenched teeth, "Not this time, Mia. Not this time."

Mia pulled her hand free from his grip and shook her head. She looked at him as long moments passed but neither of them dared to glance nor move away. Finally she whispered, "I know I have betrayed you in the worst way possible, but I swear something wasn't right last night!"

His rigid face melted for a moment to show concern, desperation, and bottled rage. "So you are saying it wasn't consensual?"

She hadn't considered that point. "I…"

He put a tender hand on her shoulder, lifted her chin gently with his free one, and replied with anxious hope in his voice. "Say the word and I will kill him myself."

She couldn't lie. "No, Nash. I don't mean like that."

He stepped back from her. "Then how?"

"I don't know," she answered, a hand covering her face as she started to cry. How could she explain that she swore she was with him last night? He'd think her to be insane, or worse, a liar! The tears came freely as she sobbed into her hand. Normally such a display would cause him to embrace her, to whisper to her and tell her everything would be all right, but not this time. In a soft voice under her tears she just said, "I'm sorry. Goddess, I'm so sorry. I know that sounds trite, but I don't know what else to say."

Nash ignored her distress and said flatly, "Well I hope you're happy and that it was all you expected it to be, because now that I've only become another disposable commodity to you-"

Still crying, she interrupted and justified the ordeal more to herself than to him. "I certainly don't consider you that! I would never do this to you! But I swear, something was wrong. We were just having a conversation. He'd brought me some books and we had some tea. That was it!"

"Somehow, I don't think there was much conversation. And what you were doing entertaining that bastard in your bedroom is beyond my ability to fathom."

"I wasn't! We were in my sitting room! The books are probably still there!" She looked up at him, her eyes begging him to trust her. "He was my friend, Nash! I was just talking to him! Please, believe me! I can't lose you, not now."

His response was drenched in sarcasm. "Talking usually doesn't require the use of one's bed, and that's where I found you, Mia! You and him!"

"You were in my room?" she asked, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"I rode for six days straight—stopping only once—to get home to you!" he shouted, the fury painting his dirty cheeks. "Where else did you think I would go the second I got in!"

Defeated, she leaned against the bookcase. She would have to tell him what she swore she had seen. Maybe he'd listen. Maybe he'd believe her. "Nash, there's something I think you need to know about what happened last night."

"I'm not really interested in listening to whatever excuse you're going to give me, Mia," he answered, his dark eyes questioning her audacity at trying to continue the conversation.

"Nash, please. Just let me explain!"

He stepped away, turning his back on her, and raising a hand as if to bid her farewell.

She let the sentence escape her lips anyway, in the hopes that he would understand. "I thought he was you."

The few words she had spoken spun him on his heel. "Please don't treat me like a complete idiot, Mia! Even a blind man could _never_ mistake that six-foot tall snake for me! It's not like we even look alike! And if that's the best you can do for an excuse, you're not trying very hard!"

"I wish you would just trust me, Nash," she whispered. "I wish you would, because then you'd know I was telling you the truth."

They stared at each other for a moment. A single moment, a single lapse in judgment was all it had taken, and now Mia felt as if Vane was crashing down from the sky once again. She watched through sodden eyes as Nash just shook his head at her despondently.

He backed away, one deliberate step at a time, but even then short distance to him was as far from her reach as the Blue Star. With an exhausted sigh, he left her with just one statement. His voice strained against the words in agony as he shouted them to her. "Indeed, Majesty! I wish I could trust you again, but you know what? I learned something from all of this! I can't stand up when I'm always kneeling at your throne! Goodbye, Mia."

She called out to him, her voice struggling to pull him back to her. But this time, he just walked away. Still crying, she watched as he stormed out of the Library. She did not run for him. Goodbye said it all.

Hoping her attempt at reconciliation today would go better than that, she released the charm from her hand, and reached for one of gardenias arranged in a vase on her dresser. She picked off one of the fragrant white petals and dragged it across her wrists and neck, knowing how much Nash loved the scent. Steeling herself once again, she lifted the garment she was to deliver to him off the bed, and silently made her way down to his suite.

She wasn't surprised to see that he had dismissed his guards and quickly raised a fist to knock on the door. A moment later it swung open, and the Guildmaster felt her mouth drop. Standing before her was not whom she was expecting and most certainly not anyone she would have thought to even be in that room.

A woman, a good inch shorter than she, with bright red hair held the door by the knob as she called towards the back of the room, "You've got company!" Mia felt the stranger's eyes waltz over her, and the woman directed her next sentence to her. "Don't just stand there gawking at me. Anybody ever tell you that's rude? Come in!"

Mia stepped through the door and raised a brow at the woman. She was dressed in simple clothing, reeked of the stables, and spoke with a thick, but pleasant accent. "I'm looking for Nash."

The woman grinned. "Obviously. He's taking a shower. I can haul him out for you if you want."

"That won't be necessary!"

"All right then. You going to wait for him?"

"Yes. I need to give him this robe," Mia said curtly as she strode into the bedroom and past the woman.

The redhead followed her. "I can do it, if you want."

"No offense, but this is very important, and I need to do it myself."

"Suit yourself. Why don't you have a seat—clear a spot if you can't find one."

Mia gazed at the state of the room. Nash still hadn't unpacked much of his things, and what he had was thrown around without much of a care. She picked her way around the clothing on the floor and made it to the sofa and two chairs set near the fireplace. Delicately lowering herself onto the couch, she looked over at the enormous bed against the far wall. The sheets and blankets were in terrible disarray, which caused her to glare at the woman for a moment as she felt a rush of color dash across her face and a burning anger rise from within.

Still, jealous or not, she was going to be civil. Feigning a smile at the woman she asked, "You wear the colors of one of the Prairie Tribes in your hair? Is that where you are from?"

"Born and raised. You wear the robe of a Vanetian, so I assume you live here?" the stranger answered as she took a seat in the chair closest to Mia.

"Yes. All my life."

"So I guess you are a student then?"

Mia grinned. "Not quite."

"Then why are you dressed like that?" the Tribal asked dubiously. "I thought that was the uniform for students."

"It is…but..."

The woman smirked. "Oh, so you're an _apprentice_. I guess he could do worse."

Mia's mouth just hung open. "Excuse me?"

"I know, I know. Students and apprentices aren't the same thing, at least that's what Brinson says."

"They're not," Mia corrected before flashing a kindly smile. "Mind telling me what you're doing here? I didn't think Nash would have company this early in the morning."

"Early?" the woman asked. "We were both up at dawn."

"Any time before lunch can be early for Nash," Mia said, flipping her curls off of her shoulders. While that wasn't entirely true, there had been some mornings she had to threaten to splash him with a water spell to get him out of bed.

"If you say so, but we went for a ride," the woman explained. "We just got back. He said I could use his shower since the communal ones are pretty crowded."

Mia's eyes narrowed at the woman. "I see."

"What? Are you jealous or something?" the woman laughed.

Her answer was clipped. "No. Not in the slightest."

With a raised an eyebrow the Tribal changed the subject. "That's an interesting necklace you wear. What is it made of?"

"I'm not sure of the material, but it's a charm."

"What kind of charm?"

Color splashed Mia's face as she covered the object of the woman's interest. "It keeps me from having children."

The woman laughed, "Ah. Isn't it a little early in the day to go looking for a date?" Then after a pause she added with a smile, "I could have used one of those a few years back, although I wouldn't trade my son for the world."

Mia was annoyed, but still she felt she needed to be polite. Rather than entertain the woman's observation, she made small talk. "You have a son? How old is he?"

"He's almost five. His name is Tristan."

"That's a pretty name. Did you bring him here to study magic?"

"Ah, no." Her expression darkened for a moment before she continued. "My brother in law—Gravitt—was invited to that party they're having here, and brought me along."

Mia noticed she spoke the last sentence with a bit of contempt. "Gravitt? He was one of our biggest benefactors."

The response was more sarcastic than Mia had anticipated. "Oh yeah, he's a treasure, let me tell you. But at least I get to travel with him. I can't tell you how much _fun_ that can be."

"Really? Where have you been?"

"All over—except Caldor Isle. I want to go there sometime."

Mia stood up, set the robe down on the couch, and moved towards the mirror near the bed. "I've been there. It's nice, but it's certainly very rustic."

The redhead looked back at her. "You travel? You can't be older than fifteen, not to mention you seem too prissy to get your hands dirty with the reins."

"Actually, I'll be twenty-one in a few weeks," she answered, fixing her hair in the glass. "You're correct. I don't ride, or at least well enough to call it riding."

"Twenty? You hide your age well. Or maybe it's just the uniform."

"I'll take that as a compliment," the Guildmaster replied dryly.

A rustling from the adjoining room and finally the opening of the door cracked the tension in the room. A moment later Nash came out, dressed in a plain burgundy robe, with his hair still wet and hanging in his face. Shocked, he stared between the two of them. After seeming to think over his next strategy, he walked up to Mia and bowed. "What can I do for you, Majesty?"

The woman covered her mouth in surprise. "Majesty?"

She gave him a brilliant smile. "You can introduce me to your friend for starters, Nash."

He turned to the redhead and said as formally as he possibly could, "Majesty, may I present Sabre. She is a friend of mine from many years ago." Then he turned back to the woman. "Sabre, this is Mia Ausa, Guildmaster of Vane."

The Tribal's eyes appeared to throw daggers at him and the flush of embarrassment was bright on her cheeks. Still, she stood up and bowed respectfully to Mia nonetheless.

"A pleasure to meet you, Sabre."

"The same, I'm sure," the other woman said flippantly, not taking her gaze off of him. "Well, two's company, but three is most definitely a crowd, so I'll be leaving. I'll see you around, _Nash_."

Nash grimaced as Sabre over-emphasized his name and replied to her quietly. "We'll definitely have to ride again, Sabre."

The redhead made a quick retreat towards the door, and just as she was about to close it, she said something in a language Mia didn't recognize. Surprisingly, Nash turned to her and responded with a nod, indicating he understood, or was pretending to, at least.

Mia smiled at him and waited to hear the door close before continuing the conversation. "What did she say?"

He gave a shrug. "What do you want, Mia?" he asked as he fixed his hair in the looking glass over the dresser.

She picked the robe off of the sofa and offered it to him. "I came by to get you to try this on. I'll have Magda alter it if necessary."

His eyes peeked out from the shroud he wrapped himself whenever she was around and looked at the Premier's regalia she held with a bit of contempt. "You want me to do this now?"

She nodded, putting on a bright smile as she took the stole off the hanger and handed him the rest. Somewhat reluctantly, he marched back into the room he had just come out of a few minutes earlier.

Moments later he reappeared, and she just stared at him, not realizing she was doing so. The midnight blue pants and shirt were basic enough, and the red belt around his slender waist gave him some definition, but it was the robe that simply made him look magnificent.

Although open in the front, it seemed to add inches to his height as though drawing power and authority from the earth below and channeling into him. The color was an intense, dark blue that shifted in hue from the deepest sapphire to a bright cerulean as he walked and exposed the material to different rays of light. Trimming the edges were narrow veins of gold leaf wire embroidered in intricate patterns along the cuffs and lapels.

Without meeting her eyes, he said guardedly, "I think it fits."

She smiled, and held out the stole. "Yes, it does. You look amazing in it, but me put on the finishing touch."

He nodded and lifted his chin as she moved towards him. Surprisingly, he didn't balk as she fastened the most important piece to his collar and then straightened it with an insecure hand. "I hope you like it."

He nodded faintly as she stepped back and admired him again. The stole certainly completed the ensemble, making him look more regal and proclaiming his position at the Guild. She smiled. "You really look handsome in that, Nash."

She could have sworn he blushed, but his face was so rigid, it was impossible to tell for sure. Reaching for his hand, she glanced up at him, trying to meet his eyes. "I need to talk to you, Nash. Promise me you will listen, and consider what I have to say."

He didn't draw away from her touch, but still replied in a bored tenor. "I am always attentive to you, Majesty. I always listen."

She closed her eyes and put a hand to her face, trying to hide the tears that were about to come. Despite her plan to come here and apologize, to find a way to work this problem out, he was going to just play the jerk _again_. "Nash, please," she implored, her voice wrenching on the two plaintive words.

Once upon a time, not too long ago, just a tinge of anguish in her tone would cause him to run to her side, to hold her delicate little hands and tell her everything would be all right. But when she needed that comfort, as she did now, all he would do was stand back and watch her torment with that indifferent demeanor he had adopted as his own. She knew it was happening again, even as she turned her face away so he wouldn't see her close what were becoming tear filled eyes.

It surprised her then when she felt his hand on her shoulder, and his voice grow gentle. "Don't cry, Mia. You came here to talk, so let's talk. Tell me what's wrong."

She smiled as he spoke her name, and her confidence grew with his touch. She took her hand off her face and looked at him. For the first time in two months, he seemed genuinely concerned—compassionate even—and his eyes were not gazing off into the distance, but kindly set on hers.

She sighed, as if she was summoning some sort of strength from within by doing so, and then began to speak. "I need your forgiveness, Nash. I can't do this alone, and I can't pretend we never cared for each other. Maybe you can, maybe that's why you manage to lock yourself into your work and hide your emotions behind this mask you wear, but I can't do that any more. I love you. I know I did something awful to you, but I want things back to where they used to be."

He crossed his arms over his chest as he glared at her, the compassion he'd shown moments before gone. "You mean blind, unyielding devotion? Is that what you demand of me? You had that once and you betrayed me, Mia. Never again."

"I swear I never intended to—"

"You know what they say about good intentions, right?"

"Nash…"

He turned away, and reached for the comb on his dresser. "I suppose the bigger insult is that you insist on pretending there is nothing wrong. Your gesture at dinner last night was not welcome."

"And your reaction was immature and overdramatic," she answered, stepping closer to him, taking a long breath and softening her tone. "It's just that our friends' happiness just made me wish to see our own again."

Looking back at her through the glass as he combed his wet hair into place, his eyes narrowed. "I told Alex and Kyle, you know. I told them everything."

"You did what?" she asked, astonished at the revelation. "Nash, this our business and our business alone."

"Afraid of the embarrassment?" He spun around and waved the comb at her. "You should be. But in your defense, neither of them wanted to believe it. Kyle even said, 'Sweet, innocent Mia?' And Alex…Alex wondered if you'd been hexed."

"He may be right," she answered quietly as she glanced down to the floor.

Shaking his head, he closed his eyes in disgust at her. "Please, Mia. If the Guildmaster of Vane can't sense a hex, what hope is there for the rest of us!"

"Not a hex, a poison." The words came quietly, fighting their way out between choked back tears. She knew he wouldn't believe her, and she honestly couldn't blame him for that.

"Now you're just making excuses." He turned back to the mirror and pulled the comb through his hair again.

She looked at him in the glass, hoping to meet his gaze and let him see the truth in her eyes. "It's not an excuse. There is a potion called Amise Drops that causes delusions. One will see what one desires most when under their influence. They were outlawed in Vane centuries ago but I'm certain they are still around."

His reflection glared at her. "If you honestly believed he used these things on you—if they even exist—then you would've arrested him by now."

"They do exist. Ask Gregory if you don't believe me," she said picking a stray thread off the sleeve of his robe. "Besides, I can't arrest him without evidence."

"You can do as you please," he said, waving his hand flippantly before setting the comb back down. "All authority in the city belongs to you."

She gave him a gentle push on the shoulder, forcing him to turn and face her. "It may, but I refuse to be a tyrant."

"Well, that was always something I admired about you, Mia," he admitted, a small smile pulling at his lips. "Your desire to be fair and just, even if it is to a fault."

"It is what I want for Vane and I'm not willing to put my own personal feelings above the law or accuse people with little cause as some of my ancestors did." She took a breath and then reminded him gently, "It's what you wanted once, too."

"It still is."

She smiled up at him, delighted to learn that he still carried the vision they'd shared. "Are we ready for this?"

"Ready for what?"

"For everything we have worked for—the Guild to open and for Vane to be what it used to be."

He caught her off guard as he touched her cheek with a single finger. "You mean you're not happy?"

"No, I'm ecstatic that we have finally built the dream we both wanted for the city, but now that its time to open the doors and actually _be_ Vane again, but there is one thing I'm not happy about."

"What's that?"

"How we treat each other," she said, looking up at him. "I never claimed to be perfect and—"

He cut her off with a stern glower as he stepped back. "I don't expect you to be. But I do expect you to be faithful and not to use me!"

"I never used you. Not once."

"You must have a different memory of certain events than I," he said, crossing his arms across his chest again.

"Nash, please…can't we just not fight?"

"You came here, Mia. I was perfectly content to be cordial with you."

"I don't want cordial. I want my best friend. I want the person I can turn to no matter what is going wrong! I want your forgiveness and I'm fully prepared to beg for it!"

"Don't bother."

"That's just your pride speaking," she answered, knowing the truth even if he wouldn't admit it. Then, after a long moment, she spoke quietly. "If there ever was a time that I could use your faith in me, it's right now, Nash."

"Why now? You have everything you want, Mia. You have Vane just as it used to be. You have a Guild full of people who are ready to jump at your command. You don't need anything from me other than my ability to carry out my duties." He raised an irritated brow at her. "I can assure you, that won't be a problem."

"I know you are more than able to lead the Guild. You care for Vane just as I do and I'm certain you'll bring honor back to the office of Premier. But that's not what I'm talking about, Nash. I'm talking about forgiveness—" She drew a long breath and reached to touch his shoulder. "I'm talking about _us_."

He didn't brush her hand away, but instead gently took it into his grasp. "What do you want me to say? That it didn't hurt? To just forget it?"

"Forgive, at least. You don't need to forget—at least not right now—but please, by Althena, forgive me."

"I fail to see what difference that will make, Majesty," he said bitterly.

"It will make all the difference to me. I need you. I need you to help me with everything. I need you to stand up with me when I take on the world. I need you to fall down with me when I make mistakes. I need you to just be you, Nash."

"Mia," he sighed her name, his brow furrowing in anguished thought. "I honestly don't know if I'm ready to do that."

"Why not?"

"Many reasons, some I'm not sure I can talk to you about at this very moment."

"Name one."

He frowned. "I know I'm not good enough for you, but what made you think he _was_?"

"I already told you—something was wrong that night and I'm damn sure the Amise Drops are to blame. I would never, ever, do that to you—much less with Orinth. He may have been my friend, but I never saw him as anything more than that." Then, after a moment, she reached for his hands and drew him closer to her, looking up into his dark eyes. "And don't ever say that. You are more than good enough for me. Hell, I don't deserve you, not after what I've done! But I'm asking you, I'm begging you, can't we work this out?"

He flinched at her last sentence, pulling his arms off of her and looking to the floor, as if he had found something incredibly interesting there all of a sudden. She grabbed onto his robe and shook him, forcing his eyes to meet hers again.

"I can't torture myself anymore, Nash! I can't pretend I'm half the person I used to be when you were by my side! Do you remember at my mother's funeral when I was so emotionally spent that you had to practically hold me up? I don't think I could have made it through that day, and many others, if it wasn't for you. I don't think I would be where I am today if I hadn't known you—or loved you."

He tenderly placed his hands on her shoulders and in a fractured voice whispered, "Mia...don't say any more...please. Not now."

"Why not? Because it's the truth and you don't want to hear it? I need the faith you used to have in me. I need it—and I need you!" she answered, touching a hand to his cheek.

He shook his head slowly and pulled away from her. "Mia, please, don't make this any more difficult for me. There are some things I need to tell you, but I can't right now."

"What things? Why can't you tell me? I don't understand, Nash."

"Maybe someday I'll be able to answer those questions, Mia, but like I said, I can't right now."

"Why not now? What is so terrible that you can't tell me? Do you want me to tell you my horrible secret? The one I've been keeping from you, from everyone in Vane? Will that make it easier on you?"

He answered in a miserable mutter. "I don't want you do to anything you don't want to do."

She put her hands on his cheeks and looked into his eyes, letting hers follow his as they darted nervously back and forth. "Tell me what I can do to make things right, then. Tell me, Nash. I'll do it."

"I don't know," was the ambiguous answer. Then, perhaps because even he could not infinitely bury his emotions he held her against him and rested his chin atop her head.

Mia sighed audibly as she felt his nearness and the impossible questions dashed through her mind. Could it have worked? Was this horrid charade finally going to end? She tilted her head, inviting his lips to amble up her neck, and felt the heat rush to her ears, when amazingly, they _did_. It had been so long, she had almost forgotten what this felt like, but was all the more eager to remember.

She closed her eyes as he tangled his hands into her curls-it was one of those little things that had always relaxed her. His breath was warm and heavy as he worked his way up to her face, making a trail of tiny, tender kisses. When he had finally reached her chin, she studied him for a moment before whispering, "I miss this. I miss you."

He smiled at her before placing a perfectly devoted kiss on her forehead, and then to her delight, lifted her chin and gazed down into her eyes, with that frantic anticipation and yearning she hadn't seen in a long while. She closed her eyes and felt his lips lingering just above hers before finally descending to touch.

It was too perfect.

As quickly as it started, it ended. He stepped back and said simply, "This isn't right, Mia. Not now, at least. I think you better leave."

She grabbed his hands as the tears began to fall and her harried words became streaked with agony. "I don't want to leave! I love you, Nash! Am I not worth a second chance to you? I can't run this place without you! I can't be who I need to be without you! You are everything I am not, and everything I have ever looked for in another person! There is nothing the two of us can't accomplish—together! I know I have wronged you—in the most horrible way even—but I am begging for your forgiveness. I am begging for you to look at me the way you used to! I am begging for any sign of humanity behind that mask you wear whenever I am around! What is more important to you, Guildmaster and Premier, or Mia and Nash?"

"I think you already answered that for me, Mia," he said quietly, but did not pull from her grasp.

Although she could hear the sadness in his words, it still infuriated her. "How can you be so cold? So unfeeling! I have just bared my soul to you and you just stand there! Don't you care!"

He recoiled from her and gave a bow, his voice becoming distant, and the change—the deformation he always went through in her presence—finally punctured his true persona. "I do care. As the Premier of the Guild I will be able to help you with your duties, and I will always protect, honor and support you." She heard the pompousness leave his voice for a moment and become replaced with sorrow as he added, "I told you once that my life is yours. That still stands, and it always will."

"I don't need a protector, a secretary, nor an assistant...I just...I just need you."

"Perhaps that was true at one time, Mia, but I don't think so anymore. I think you've demonstrated that to me at least once."

Her face distorted in wrath as the tears returned.

And this time, she did slap him.


	8. Chapter Seven

_**Rise from Ashes**_  
**Chapter Seven**

* * *

There were plenty of other places Gregory would've rather been than Mia's office, but duty had called, and he reluctantly answered. She had asked the Council and Nash to personally greet the city's greatest benefactors just after lunch. He noticed that out of habit, they had arranged themselves in their usual order—Alastair, Tamora, Mia at the center, Robin, and then himself. Nash took the spot to Gregory's right, as far as possible from the Guildmaster. As one guest left, the Illusionist frowned at his son, who seemed distracted and irritated with the entire exercise.

"I know this is tedious, but do try to smile," he whispered to Nash as they waited for the next patron to be shown in. "If you think this is dull, just wait until you attend one of our Council meetings."

"Master Gregory," Robin hissed. "If you think our meetings are boring, perhaps you should resign."

"And miss the chance to enjoy your company, Master Robin?" Gregory teased. "Never."

"Don't mock me, Gregory."

"It is the truth, Master Robin," he answered with an honest smile. "I wouldn't know half my flaws if it weren't for you and your uncanny ability to point them out with such precision."

Nash tried to stifle a laugh. And failed.

"They always do this," Mia said, having moved to stand next to her new Premier, much to his surprise. Folding her hands demurely in front of her, she gave him a broad smile. "It's rather entertaining."

His response was a curt nod before busying himself by toying with the silver embroidery on the cuff of his burgundy robe. "I'll bet."

At his dismissive answer, her smile faded and she stepped back towards her space at the middle of the group.

"Most entertaining," Tamora echoed as she smoothed the front of red her dress and obviously tried to break the tension the two young mages managed to cause in matter of seconds. "Majesty, on the matters at hand, I must say, I'm impressed."

"Impressed, Master Tamora?" the Guildmaster asked.

"Yes. I sense nothing but altruistic motives from the benefactors we've met."

Alastair nodded in agreement. "Indeed, Majesty. The good nature of people is often underestimated. From the food that Lann provided to the books donated by Damon and even the livestock from Tempest and his tribe, Vane has been most fortunate."

"I wish Damon and Tempest had been able to come," Mia said, stealing a glance at Nash as she thought out loud. "I sent their invitations personally."

"While they are missed," Robin said, still holding a glare on the Illusionist. "I'm honestly pleased that no one has asked for a return favor. I figured at least some of this money would have strong strings attached."

"You're not old enough to be _that_ cynical, Master Robin," Gregory said with a grin. But, before his verbal sparring partner could respond, the door opened, revealing their final guest.

The man had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe, though some of his dark brown hair still brushed it as he stepped inside. Although he had the build of an ox, he was rather attractive in a rough-hewn sort of way. With a measured, yet casual stride he carried himself with confidence that bordered on arrogance. His massive frame spoke of his strength and the grace with which he balanced on his feet told of his unmatched skill in combat. The bright red tunic he wore was of excellent quality, yet seemed somewhat out of place on him as though tailored for someone else of identical size and build. What truly captured Gregory's attention were his eyes. They were a steely silver-gray that seemed to harbor no empathy, and reminded the old man of a reptile.

"Gravitt of Briggatt," the man introduced himself with a perfectly executed bow to Mia.

"A pleasure to meet you, Master Gravitt," Mia replied, giving a slight tip of her head.

"I trust I'm not interrupting anything, Majesty," he replied as he looked at the rest of the assembly.

"Not at all," Mia answered. "Allow me to present my Council and Premier." With a dainty hand, she gestured to each as she introduced them by name. "Master Alastair Gaine, Master Tamora Dwyion, Master Robin Mikasa, Master Gregory Telka, and Master Nash Telka. We are all here to offer our gratitude."

"I am truly honored," Gravitt said, giving each a slight bow, his eyes darting curiously from Gregory to Nash.

"The pleasure is ours," Gregory answered, noticing just how rehearsed the man's genuflections seemed. "It is not every day we are honored with the duty of greeting those who helped Vane in our darkest hour."

At that, Tamora stepped forward and positioned herself slightly between the man and Mia, as if she were sharing some of the same apprehension with Gregory. Speaking through a forced smile, the brunette brushed a stray lock of her hair back into place. "As I understand it, Majesty, Master Gravitt was more than generous in his assistance to our esteemed city."

"It was nothing, and I was honored to help," the huge man answered, the words thick with a dubious kindness.

"It was hardly _nothing_," Robin said, pursing her unpainted lips in a way that told the Illusionist she was unimpressed.

Returning the Healer's look, he wondered just what this man would cost them in the end.

"Indeed," Alastair said, his tone still friendly. "Without your kind donations, I doubt we'd have been able to restore the Library at all."

"Or the rest of the Guild, for that matter," Tamora added.

"Shall we be calling you Master Gravitt?" the Robin asked, almost mockingly, as she looked between Mia and the man.

Gregory scowled at her obtuse insult, even if it flew over most of the heads in the room. He knew she was still sore about Nash—and many others—receiving the title without sitting for the exam. But honestly, he was wondering close to the same himself. How would Mia show her gratitude to this man?

Mia gave a slight gasp as she realized her faux pas and quickly gestured to the sofa and two large chairs in her office. "Please have a seat and please accept my sincerest apologies. I don't seem to know your title or proper name. I'm afraid the letters you included with your generous donations didn't mention that."

"Ah, it's just Gravitt, Majesty," the man answered, scratching his brow. "In Briggatt, we really don't have time for titles or namesakes. We see ourselves more as a community of equals. I merely have the honor of speaking for them, you might say."

Gregory gave a dark frown as the Guildmaster's eyes lit up at Gravitt's mention of a "community of equals." Such was her dream for Vane—a noble and reachable one—but the false sincerity Gregory heard in the man's voice grated on his nerves. As Mia lowered herself gracefully to sit next to their guest, the rest of them quickly rearranged themselves. Tamora sat next to Mia on the couch, Robin took the chair closest to Gravitt, and the three men remained standing, closing ranks among the group.

"Very well, Gravitt. Let's set aside the formality and, as you do in your homeland, speak as equals," Mia began, brushing at the fabric of her pale blue dress. "I asked you here to thank you personally for all you have done for us. You were by far one of our most generous donors, and yet I feel as though I know nothing about you, a situation I sincerely hope to rectify."

"Ah, you're most welcome, Majesty," he said, running a hand through his thick hair. "It does sadden me that you don't remember me, but then I shouldn't have expected you to."

Mia looked at the man quizzically, tilting her head and letting some of her locks fall to the side of her face, framing it perfectly.

"Many years ago, when my father Zigguratt was still alive, we traveled to Vane," he explained with a smile. "It was still flying then, and I was little more than a child. He came to bring some of the jewels from Briggatt here to trade. They have been our life's blood for longer than we have records. Anyway, I remember wandering the halls of the Guild fascinated with the magic, the school, and the society in general. My appearance must have come as a shock to many of the finer students, since we hadn't changed from our riding clothing and must have looked rather out of place to them."

Gregory coughed, not intentionally, and quickly offered his apologies for the interruption. Stealing a glance at Nash, he was pleased to see that the young man was looking at Mia longingly, expectantly. But, as soon as he noticed Gregory watching him, his face melted back into a stern facade.

"At some point," Gravitt continued. "I wandered away from my father and some how found myself in one of Vane's magnificent courtyards. I was very frightened and lost. I asked several people for directions but no one would talk to me—no one except a pretty little black haired girl who seemed to be hiding behind the pages of her book."

Mia blushed feverishly at Gravitt's description of her and touched a hand to the blue ribbon in her hair. "I remember now."

Glancing at his comrades, the Illusionist could tell he shared their discomfort as the Guildmaster become further enraptured in the story. Mia's trusting nature was being clearly plied by this man, but there was really nothing he could do to stop it. Not at this moment, at least.

"Yes, Majesty, it was you. You must have only been seven or eight years old at the time, but you put your book down and with a smile agreed to help me find my father. And, together we did."

A look of elated surprise manifested on the Guildmaster's face as the memory of that event returned to her. "We found him equally as lost—in the Library, as I recall."

The man's eyes warmed. "Yes. Well, I never forgot that small act of kindness or the feeling of amazement as I stood in the Library."

"All of this, just for that?" Robin asked skeptically.

"Yes," said Gravitt as he reached for Mia's hand, and to everyone's surprise, the Guildmaster didn't resist. "That, and because I've always longed to be a part of Vane. Ever since entering that Library and feeling the knowledge pulsing from within its very walls, I have wanted to study here, and to be part of this wonderful world. I wanted to learn about magic, even if I'm not one of those blessed with it. Then, after the tragedy of the Fall, I heard you were going to open your magnificent city to anyone who wished to study both magic and other subjects. I greatly admire that and knew that I had to help."

"Well, you've definitely been a big help," Nash said, clenching a fist at his side and clearly offended by the audacity of the man who just touched Mia so casually.

Still smiling, Mia placed her other hand on Gravitt's massive one. "I honestly don't know what to say. Of course you are welcome here now. I humbly apologize for the traditions of Vane past. I only wish I could have changed them earlier."

Nash grit his teeth at the gesture. "We're changing them now. We can't keep apologizing for the past, Mia."

"Yes, we are changing them," the Guildmaster answered, a tinge of hope in her voice and her eyes as she heard him use her name rather than her title. "Nash is right. We do have to look towards the future."

Gravitt glanced up at the young man. "He's right, though even your policy of allowing anyone in Vane won't help me." The benefactor gave a heavy, dramatic sigh as he clutched Mia's hand. "You see, I've been cursed with immunity to magic. It's as though it ceases to exist when it comes near me in any form. My father had the same problem, I'm afraid."

Gregory wanted to call the man himself a curse, but he held his tongue and placed a reassuring hand on Nash's shoulder.

"How fascinating—I've never heard of any magic like that, but how unfortunate for you," Mia answered, her voice soft with sympathy at the man's story. "Anti-magic, I suppose. Have any of you studied this phenomenon?" she asked her five trusted confidantes.

All of them shook their heads. All of them, _except_ Gregory. He was seriously considering "accidentally" teleporting Mia back to her room, just to get her away from this man. He sensed that Gravitt was warming up to a favor—a favor that Vane probably would feel indebted to repay, no matter the consequences.

Gravitt gave a sad little smile to the group, and then stood up. "Well, even without magic I've managed to do rather well. Anyway, I don't want to take any more of your time, Majesty. It was a pleasure to finally meet you, and your distinguished company."

Mia rose to her feet politely, with Tamora and Robin following suit, the two women wisely keeping themselves close to their Guildmaster and the guest that clearly intrigued her. "Gravitt, I still don't know how to thank you," Mia said. "The least I can do is ask that you honor me by sitting at my table during the receptions this week."

Again, Gravitt bowed to her, this time not as gracefully as before. "No, it is I who would be honored with that offer, Majesty. Allow me to give you one more gift of good will before we part." Fishing around in his tunic pocket, he eventually produced a small box and reverently placed it in Mia's hands.

Quirking a brow, Gregory stepped closer to see what was in the package as Nash crossed his arms over his chest in disgust. Mia unwrapped the small gift and with her violet eyes widened in wonder, gazed down upon a magnificent necklace. It was composed of alternating diamonds and sapphires, cast into thick chain that was an odd silver-blue.

Mia lifted the necklace from its box and Tamora let out a gasp as the crowing glory of the gift came into her view. Hanging at the center, was a pendant—a large, deep blue stone that was almost the size of a robin's egg. As Mia turned it, a four-pointed star's sharp tips stood at ninety-degree angles and made themselves known. With every move the image of the star seemed to shift, growing brighter or dimmer, larger or smaller as the Guildmaster studied it with fascination.

"It's beautiful!" Mia said, looking at the man in awe. "Gravitt, again, I don't even know how to thank you. I've never seen such a stone. It's amazing, and I will treasure it."

"Master Tamora, would you be so kind?" Mia asked, holding the jewelry around her neck and obviously expecting the other woman to fasten the clasp.

"Perhaps I should affix a protection spell to it first, Majesty," Alastair said, giving a slight bow. "You know I always insist on such prudent precautions."

Gregory gave a nod of thanks to his colleague, knowing it would be best if one of them at least examine the thing before she wore it. Considering all that just transpired, his instincts told him they were dealing with some sort of soulless devil.

Mia slowly pulled the necklace off and placed it back in its box. "I hope you don't take offense, Master Gravitt. It is just one of the many ways Master Alastair ensures my safety. But I promise I will wear it to the reception tonight."

"No offense is taken, Majesty. It's just a small token of respect from the citizens of Briggatt. But it is nothing, your real gift—your gift from me—will be delivered later on this week."

The distrust Gregory saw in Nash's eyes was reflected in his own as he met his son's gaze.

"Your gifts seem to be unending," Robin said, her tone quite accusatory.

"Are you certain there's nothing we can do for you, Gravitt?" Mia asked.

"No, Majesty," the huge man said with a slight grin. "I require nothing since you have been most kind in finding exquisite accommodations for my entire delegation."

"It is the least we can do for you and your companions," Mia answered, a tight smile on her face as she glanced at Nash. "I would love to meet the rest of them. Though I believe I met your sister-in-law this morning."

"Funny, Sabre didn't mention that, though I do know that Highness Nash is well acquainted with my sister-in-law," Gravitt said, grinning at the young man. "It's not often that a woman of the Tribes can claim friendship with such distinguished company."

The color drained out of Nash's face as he felt all eyes in the room fall on him.

Gregory narrowed his gaze at Gravitt. Not only was this serpent trying to dispel suspicion from himself at Nash's expense, he found it quite odd that someone from the Stadius Zone would know the _proper_ title of address for a Premier—especially one who had yet to be officially inaugurated.

"And how do you know this person, _Master_ Nash?" Robin asked, not even bothering to hide the skepticism in her voice.

He gave the answer in a distracted mutter before turning his eyes to stare at Lemia's portrait on the opposite wall. "We were friends as children."

The Healer glared at him. "I see."

Gravitt gave a smirk, probably pleased with himself for the strife he was causing the young man. "Well then, I'll leave you with this—consider it a preview of the things to come," he said as he took a single green stone from his trouser pocket and went to place it in Mia's hand.

Tamora grabbed it before it could touch the Guildmaster's skin waved a hand over it to be sure nothing nefarious was within. Satisified it was safe, she beamed a maternal smile at Mia before handing her the stone.

Mia stared at the gem, it was crudely cut, and clearly not like anything she'd seen before. "There is strong magic here, but a kind I'm not familiar with. What is it?"

"That would spoil the surprise of your gift," Gravitt replied with a coy smile. "Just accept that for right now. I shall deliver the rest with an explanation in a few days. Let me just say that I have heard of your dream, and this is a part of making it come true."

"You don't need to—"

Gravitt smiled at Mia and touched a gentle hand to her cheek, much to the shock of the rest of the people in the room. "The only thing I ask is that you allow me to bring a caravan of carts into the city and grant me a few moments to speak at the reception tomorrow evening."

Gregory coughed, trying to fight back the urge to roll her eyes at this pathetic display. Not particularly caring for the way the man had touched the Guildmaster, he was pleased to see that Tamora stepped even closer her and put a maternal hand on her back.

"It would be my pleasure to allow it," Mia answered, her face burning from the compliments and touch.

"Following an inspection, of course," Alastair added.

"Of course. Thank you, Majesty," he said as he started to step backwards towards the door. "I can promise you won't be disappointed."

* * *

"I'm back," Brinson called as he stepped through door of the room he was sharing with Sabre. Not hearing a response, he set his pack down on the living room sofa and quietly opened the door to the bedroom.

Sabre was still asleep. She'd told him, hours before, that she wasn't feeling well and that she wanted to rest. He'd given her a nod and a smile as he set out to do the chores Gravitt had assigned, silently praying this illness was just a passing one and not anything that their master had inflicted.

Touching her shoulder, he whispered, "Hey, wake up. I brought supper."

"Supper?" she asked, turning over to face him but not opening her eyes. "It's supper time already?"

"I've been gone a good few hours," he replied, brushing his fingers through her hair and moving the conversation into their first language. "And before you ask, no, they're not back."

She sat up and stretched, frustration weaved into her expression. "Damn it."

"I'm sure Tristan is fine," he said gently. "Besides, Gravitt said not to expect them until after nightfall."

She stood up and walked out onto the small balcony to look out over Vane. "I'm surprised he gave us that much information."

"He can't afford to look like anything but the gentleman he's trying to convince all of these people he is," Brinson answered, following. "But I still don't know what he wants with Vane. He doesn't stand a chance—the guards, the army, the Heroes, the rules about keeping weapons out of the Guild Manor."

Sabre shrugged. "I guess we should be grateful he's behaving himself for once."

"We'll see how long that lasts," he said bitterly. "But I did get a few things accomplished."

"Like?"

"Some shopping - and Artie showed me how to use the library."

"Who?"

"The engineer of the Guild," he answered cautiously. "I helped her hang a door and she offered to help me."

Sabre snorted. "The tramp from the other night?"

Shaking his head, Brinson sighed. Sabre had always been distrustful, if not downright hateful, of other women. It was a sort of envy born out of her distorted perception that other women took their lives for granted. Although it was easy to rationalize why she felt this way, it was still something he'd begged her over the years to abandon. Though they rarely fought with each other, every time they did, it was over her misconceptions about his relationship with another woman. "Sabre," he pleaded, hoping she would just let it go this time.

With a nod, she sat down on the stone floor of the balcony but still fixed a glare on him. "Let's eat here."

Pleased that she was going to put her jealousy in check, he stepped inside to retrieve his pack and then joined her. The view of the city was breathtaking from the Guild Manor, and the sunset that was beginning to paint itself in the western sky just added more vibrancy and romance to the entire scene.

Brinson set the bag down and began taking things out of it. Delicious smelling warm meat, some cooked vegetables, and freshly baked breads were methodically unwrapped and set between the two of them.

"That looks yummy," she said, clearly already having forgotten her annoyance with him moments before.

"This isn't all I bought," he answered, his tawny eyes flickering with mischief. "But we'll save all of that for later. I'm hungry."

"Gravitt won't be happy," she said, tasting one of the breads. It had a distinct flavor she wasn't familiar with—a sharp cheese coupled with a sweet herb.

He gave a shrug. "I did what he wanted me to do. I bought an outfit to wear to that party they're having tomorrow night. I just spent the rest on _other_ things."

"Your money or his?"

"Both," Brinson grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. Sometimes he'd play cards in taverns where Gravitt would have them rest. Other times, he'd just steal it. Either way, it had become a habit of his to make sure that he always carried some silver. It let him feel less reliant on his master and provided him just a tiny bit of freedom. "Guess what they were selling?"

"Gowns?" she said with a smirk before taking one of the cooked potatoes from the small pile of food. "The women of Vane seem to enjoy wearing them."

He laughed. "No, though there were plenty if you're interested."

"I'd rather be dead then trapped in one of those things."

"I know," he said, sliding his glasses back up his nose with his index finger. "But what I bought is important, especially if we're really going to try and get away."

Stopping herself in mid bite of the potato, she pressed a gloved finger to his lips and instinctively looked over her shoulder for eavesdroppers. "You shouldn't talk about that so freely!"

He leaned closer and reached to touch her hair before whispering, "A _higathe_."

Her eyes widened. Those unique weapons were the trademark armament for his tribe, and the way they were made and used was a secret they'd kept closely guarded for generations. "Where is it?"

"The guards made me leave it with them before I entered the Guild Manor. But it's down with them, safe and secure."

"And away from where Gravitt will find it."

He nodded as he handed her a few slices of grilled eggplant. "Exactly. I haven't used one in years. I'll need to go out and practice with it a little."

With a skeptic brow she accepted it and took a bite, smiling at the flavor. "Do you think he'll notice? About the money, I mean."

"I doubt it. He seems pretty distracted here. He didn't even notice you were gone this morning, or if he did, he didn't care."

"Really?"

Brinson nodded and asked a question that he'd been dying to hear the answer to all day. "So are you going to tell me about your reunion with Ashu?"

"Not much to tell," she said quietly, finishing the last bit of her meat. "But he's not really Ashu anymore."

"Did you expect him to be?" Brinson asked gently.

"I honestly don't know. Of course, I really didn't expect to see him here."

"He'll be able to help us," Brinson said as he unfastened the strap that held his ponytail and shook his long blonde hair out.

She shook her head and met his eyes with a strong gaze. "I don't want him too involved. Gravitt is our problem to solve, not Ashu's and certainly not Vane's."

Tying his hair back up, he changed the subject just a little, knowing that she was right. Better they fight their own battles. "What did the two of you talk about?"

"What happened the night the Setin came and took me," she answered, standing up and leaning over the balcony again. "I didn't tell him much about how I live now. Like I said, I don't want him involved with Gravitt, but he does want to see if he can help me with my magic, and for Tristan's sake, I'm going to allow him to do that."

Rising up and standing behind her, he put his arms around her waist. "For your sake, too. I worry every time I see you get sick."

"And yours," she said, giving him a gentle, sideways glance. "If we do get out of here, I mean. Well, you know what I mean."

He rolled the braid in her hair between two fingers, yearning for the moment he'd be able to take the ribbons out and plait his own colors over her right ear. "Sabre, we've been over this a dozen times. It doesn't matter to me."

"It should."

"Why?" he said, resting his chin atop her head. "I've told you as soon as we are free, we will marry by our traditions. We've wanted that for years. I've wanted that for years. So have you."

She shrugged him away. "Our traditions also say—"

"Tristan is the only child I need, Sabre," he interrupted, giving her shoulder a slight push to force her to turn around and face him.

With that sentiment, she gave a contented sigh as she leaned against his chest and allowed herself to enjoy a tiny smile as he held her.

After a long, blissful moment, he asked, "Did Ashu tell you anything about the plans for the week? Or did you learn anything about the world outside of Vane while you were riding?"

"Not too much about the plans, but quite a bit about the land." She slid her covered hands up his shirt, teasing him.

Shivering at her sudden touch, he closed his eyes and leaned into it. "Tomorrow night, then," he said, trying to focus on the conversation despite her attempt to distract him. "You and Tristan will leave during the reception and I'll follow. Gravitt wants me at it for some reason, but the minute it is over, I'll run."

"No," she replied, instantly pulling back from him. "I'm not going without you."

"Sabre, it's the best chance," he pleaded. "With all of his mercenaries gone, and Gravitt distracted, you can get away."

"It might be the best chance for _me_, but not for _you_," she answered, poking him in the chest.

"Sabre…"

Shaking her head for emphasis, she said, "I said no. What about on the last day? Ashu said they were having a ceremony for him. It will be busy, and there will probably be more people here."

"Gravitt hasn't told us his plans for Saturday and if the others return it will cause us problems."

The finality in her voice told him he would lose this debate. "He will go to that ceremony. I know it. You said he is all about keeping up appearances so he would take his men, too, _if_ they come back. If that is the big event of the week, then I know he'll make sure to be there."

"Why are you so sure they're not coming back?"

"Just a feeling," she said, crossing her arms across her stomach. "Besides, he would have a hell of time fitting them into the story he's sold Vane."

"Maybe, but he'll definitely notice if we don't go with him."

"_If _he even wants us to go."

Drawing her back into his arms, he sighed. "He'll probably keep us close if there are going to be that many more people, Sabre."

She rested her forehead against his chest, letting her eyes trace the intricate Tribal patterns on his shirt. "So we leave just after breakfast. By the time he dresses in the morning, we'll be gone and he'll look awful suspicious if he's looking for us."

"I don't know about that. The sooner we can leave, the sooner I think we should," Brinson said, winding his fingers into her hair. "Tomorrow night feels like the best time to me. I'd meet you in the woods - "

"No, because the instant Gravitt realizes Tristan and I are gone, you're dead," she pleaded, grabbing onto his shirt and looking up at him desperately. "Besides, I'm not leaving without you! It doesn't matter if Tristan and I get away if you don't."

Muttering, he kissed her on the crown of her head. "I just don't want to miss our chance, that's all."

"Trust me," she said, placing her covered hands on his cheeks. "I know what Ashu told me. That ceremony, it will be big, it will be distracting, and if Gravitt wants to keep up his appearance as a benefactor, he will go."

"Benefactor?"

"Ashu said he sent them a lot of money. That's what that means, right?"

He gave a nod. "So this is where all of that money has been going. I had my suspicions, but - "

She cut him off. "Ashu must never know."

"I won't tell him," he answered sourly. The thought that much of this fabled city he'd longed to see for years was rebuilt on Gravitt's blood money turned his stomach. Blood money he and Sabre had assisted in acquiring, no less. "Though I hope you will introduce us."

She nodded, but didn't leave the comfort of his arms. "Well, he wants to go riding again. That will be a good time." Then, giving a slight frown, she added, "He wants me to see a healer tomorrow. He said she might be able to help, but warned me that she isn't very nice."

"That's great, Sabre," he said excitedly as he gave her a gentle squeeze.

She shrugged. "I'm not holding out too much hope."

"I am," he answered, kissing her hair again. "I also bought something. For us."

She drew back and looked at him quizzically. "For us?"

He pulled a tiny vial of green liquid out of his pants pocket and placed it in her hand. "Seal potion. The man who was selling it said that the magicians of Vane use it to nullify the effects of their magic."

She gave him an incredulous look. Surely it couldn't be this easy? "Why would they do that?"

"Experimentation is what the merchant said," he answered. "But the effect is only good for about an hour, maybe less, and it can't be used too often."

"It must be very expensive," she said, still not believing the simple, temporary solution.

Brinson gave her a wink. "It is, but ah, let's just say that he didn't realize he had sold it."

"Thief," she teased him as she turned the tiny bit of glass carefully in her palm. "How do I use it?"

"Drink it," he whispered, his breath warm and tempting on her ear. "But I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. I won't be hurt if you don't want to use it."

She stepped back into their room and sat on the bed, still examining the vial and considering the possibilities it contained. Drink a potion and her curse was broken for an hour? It couldn't be, but hope still tugged at her heart. All these years she'd never been able to touch her son or her lover. Tristan would only get a gentle pat on the back, or a touch on his shoulder, but never his mother's kiss. And Brinson? They'd touched, but only with gloves. Never a kiss, never a real caress. How she'd wanted to be with him so many times, to feel his skin against hers and to share a long, tender kiss. Now, it seemed she could have that, even if it was just an hour.

He sat next to her and watched as she quickly drank the potion, the contortion of her lips telling him it tasted terrible. "It's bitter isn't it?"

She nodded, and, still unconvinced, gingerly held her hand out to him, waiting to see if he would take the glove off.

Brinson gave her a reassuring smile as he tugged at the cuff of her glove, sliding it slowly off her hand before reaching forward with a single finger to touch her palm.

She winced, waiting for the inevitable rush of magic and pull of pain. But none came. Nothing at all! Looking up at him, still in awe at how simple this answer was, she whispered, "It works."

"I know," he said, entwining his fingers into hers, and relishing that first bit of touch they'd been able to enjoy in the dozen years they'd known each other. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers, savoring her nearness, her warmth, and the mere feel of her skin. They had both wished for this for so long, but he was still hesitant. After some of the things Gravitt had done to her, the last thing he wanted was for her to feel pressured or uncomfortable.

Fortunately, she took care of that notion for him. "Kiss me," she whispered, struggling to keep the tears smoldering in the corners of her eyes from falling. "Please."

Delicately, and with the utmost reverence, he lifted her chin and let his eyes follow hers in a desperate dance for less than a moment. Parting his lips, he pressed them to hers in a gentle touch, barely a caress.

Sabre returned it, her fervor asking him to give her another deeper, more passionate kiss, and he did. Spreading his lips over hers and holding her breath inside of him, he pulled her closer. One of his hands wandered along the back of her neck, his fingers deftly walking along the nape, teasing the tender skin and begging her for more.

"Goddess," he whispered, when it finally broke, his breath hitching in between kisses hurriedly placed along her neck. "I love you, Sabre."

Between his words, the kisses, the fact that his touch was so giving, so gentle, so _perfect_, she couldn't choke back the tears any longer. A few slipped down her cheeks.

"Sabre, are you all right?" he asked, brushing them away tenderly with a finger.

"Yes," She paused before dragging the back of her hand along his cheek. "I've just always wondered what kissing you would feel like. And now I know. I know that I like it. I like it a lot."

"Me too," he said with a tender smile. It was everything he had imagined all of these years and as selfish as it was, he wanted more.

She must've read his mind. She tugged off her shirt and then pressed herself against him, claiming another kiss. Tugging at the strap of leather he wore in his hair, she freed his long, blonde locks from their prison of a ponytail and hungrily ran her hands through it. They only had an hour, damn it, and she was clearly determined to make the most of it.

Brinson pulled her into his lap and assailed her with a trail of tiny kisses from her ear to her neck. His hands busied themselves with caressing the small of her back, as he prayed this could last forever.

Bowing into his touch, she wrapped her arms around her neck and claimed another kiss. When she finally released him, she whispered, nearly breathless into his ear. "I trust you and I love you, Brinson. You can do whatever you want to me."

"I want to do what you want," he mumbled as he rested his lips on her forehead. That statement wasn't really the truth, though. No, what he _really_ wanted to do was to lay her back on the bed and make love to her. "Nothing more, Sabre. Just what you want, my love."

"What I want, my love," she echoed, kissing his cheek. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she leaned back, and gently pulled him on top of her. "Is for you to never stop touching me."

* * *

Gravitt nearly beat the door off the frame with two knocks and gave a look of disgust as Brinson opened it. It seemed so surreal to the Tribesman that only a few hours had passed since he'd fallen asleep next to Sabre. Dreams that had been unreachable only hours before had managed to manifest themselves and thoughts of the future—escape and beyond—were within reach.

But now, reality was right here, glowering at him in the face.

"Mommy!" Tristan called as he ran through the tension between the two men and into Sabre's arms. "We went on an adventure!"

She smiled and embraced the child, but Gravitt didn't give them even a moment before making a demand.

"Mommy and I need to talk," Gravitt said, curling his tongue savagely around the first word as he pulled her away from the child.

"Okay," Tristan answered, releasing his mother.

Sabre forced a smile at the boy. "Stay with Brinson. I'll be right back."

As she walked past him and towards Gravitt, Brinson reached to brush his hand across her back, a gesture that yielded him a smile from her and a harsh stare from their master.

Closing the door behind them, the blonde man turned to the boy and led him towards the sofa. He didn't care much for the answer, but any sort of discussion was worth the effort to try and occupy his mind with thoughts of something other than Sabre and her likely plight next door. "Where did you go?"

The little boy climbed up next to the man and shrugged. "Gravitt called it 'The Ruins.' It smelled bad."

"Bad?"

"Like metal. But Phillip and Marcus were there."

"Really?" Brinson asked, reaching a paternal hand to brush the child's thick auburn hair from his eyes.

"So were the rest of Gravitt's friends."

"What were they doing?"

"They packed up really big carts," the boy said, spreading his arms to emphasize the impressive size. "With big pieces of metal. We brought them back with us."

"The pieces of metal or the men?"

"Both, but the men left when we got back here. I don't think they wanted to go back with the Bird Man."

Brinson smiled at the child. "The Bird Man?"

"He looked like a bird." The boy curled a finger and put it on his nose to mimic a beak. "He yelled a lot and he smelled like metal, too."

Before he could ask the boy another question, Gravitt's angry voice carried through the wall, but the exact words were muffled. Brinson's heart broke as he thought of what was going on next door, and he cursed himself for being unable to stop it. Instinctively, he pulled the child to his chest and closed his eyes, saying a silent prayer to Althena that Sabre would be all right.

"Brinson?" Tristan asked, confused. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no," he lied, slowly releasing the child from his arms as the noise from Gravitt's room died down. "Actually, I have something for you. Get my pack on the table."

The child ran towards the bag and struggled to lift it. Mustering all of his strength, he awkwardly carried it, his eyes shining with anticipation.

Brinson reached into the pack and pretended to sift around through the contents as the little boy watched anxiously. After a few moments of enjoying the excitement in Tristan's eyes, he produced a hand puppet in the shape of a dog. It was an exquisitely made toy; soft brown rabbit fur with bright button eyes that brought radiance to the boy's face as he looked at it. Holding it out to the child, he gave a fond laugh. "You keep saying that you want a puppy."

Tristan held the toy to his small chest and beamed back at the man. "Thank you, Brinson!"

"But it has to be a secret. You can't tell Gravitt, okay?" he said, trying to ignore the peculiar, disturbing silence next door.

"I promise," Tristan said, holding a hand over his heart. "He made me keep a secret, too. But Mommy said his secrets don't count."

"What secret was that?"

"That I'm his nephew," he said, putting his hand inside the puppet to make it open it's mouth. "What's that mean?"

Brinson hoped his expression didn't tell of his disgust as he answered the child. "It just means he's looking out for you."

"Oh," the boy answered, his attention quickly refocused on his new toy. "I'm gonna name him _Misha_."

The blonde man smiled. He and Sabre had been teaching the child their first language whenever Gravitt's back was turned, and it pleased him to hear the boy using it. "Do you remember what it means?"

"Love."

"Very good," Brinson answered him in Tribal before changing back to the common language. "But there's something special about it. If you say it before the name of someone you care a lot about, it means 'my love,' but you only use that for very special people."

"_Misha_ Brinson!" Tristan answered with a giggle, trying out his newfound knowledge.

He smiled at the innocent misuse of the word and glanced up to see Sabre standing in the doorway. She repeated the simple phrase, but her eyes were distant and her expression neutral. He didn't need to ask why.

Lumbering footsteps followed her as Gravitt appeared behind her. Using a most phony musical voice, he called, "Tristan, it's time for bed!"

The little boy handed Brinson his new toy and gave him a quick hug before trotting off towards his mother. She embraced him for a moment and then closed her eyes as Gravitt picked him up.

"Remember what we discussed, _Mommy_," their Master said as he carried the boy off.

Stepping into the hallway to catch just one more glimpse of her son, Sabre leaned on the frame. When the door to Gravitt's room closed, she came back into the room and sat down on the bed, defeated.

"I'm sorry," he said, sitting behind her and repeating the conversation they seemed to have far too often.

"Nothing to be sorry for. Besides, he didn't-"

"Sabre…" he whispered her name as he smoothed a hand through her hair.

"He can smell now," she said tepidly, glancing up into his tawny eyes. "I don't know how, but he can, and he says he can smell better than most humans. He said he doesn't know how we were able to touch, but if he smells you on me again, he will kill us all."

"We'll be rid of him soon, Sabre," he answered, scooting himself up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. "I swear it. I swear it to Althena, my love."

She let him have that small contact though it only served to remind them both of the bliss they'd shared only hours before. "He wants me to keep Ashu close. He knows I spoke with him. He knows we went for a ride."

"Does he know that Ashu is your brother?"

"No. Just that we are friends," she frowned. "Actually, I think he believes we're more than that, but I'm just afraid he's going to do something. Ashu doesn't deserve to have his name ruined by Gravitt making up stories."

"Ashu can handle himself, Sabre," he whispered, playing with the plait in her hair. "You need to worry about you, about Tristan, not about Ashu. Trust me, I'm sure it's not the first time and it won't be the last time that he's been the subject of vicious rumors."

She gave a slight nod and entwined her covered hands into his. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For everything."


End file.
